Heart of the Moon
by akaKatherineJoy
Summary: Valerie Peters arrives in Beacon Hills, unaware of the supernatural events in the town. When she finds a bleeding and injured Derek by the side of the road, she stops to help him. What she doesn't know is that she's just involved herself in a struggle for control of the city and Derek is her key to survival. OC/Derek H., mirroring perspectives.
1. Chapter 1: Valerie

I wanted to focus a story around Derek Hale and a possible human love interest. How he would act, if he would accept her? The story is basically set in the beginning of season 2. Gerard has arrived in Beacon Hills, and there's a Kanima. I don't think I can tailor this story around the show any further, since the focus is between Derek and OC.

* * *

**VALERIE**

So there I am, driving my car back from the grocery store in the new town I just moved to called Beacon Hills, singing along with the radio. The road is basically deserted, as this town is fairly small and unknown, and it winds back and forth through a thick forest.

Then I notice it: roadkill. Ewww. Although this creature is huge, and not like the standard deer I would expect. It's dark and the blood looks fresh. I frown, squinting at it. What is it? From this angle, it looks like a...

I slam on my brakes and pull the car over before I reach it. That's a person. A guy is lying on the side of the road, bleeding. I jump out of the car and rush to his side. His chest is moving, so he's breathing, but his eyes are closed and he's awfully pale. There's a lot of blood on the ground. Swallowing hard, I grip his shoulder and shake him gently.

"Hey! Hey, can you hear me?"

The guy groans, but he doesn't open his eyes.

My heart is racing. What on earth happened? A hit and run? His leather jacket is dusty and torn, his jeans in a similar state. His short dark hair is mussed. Oh man, I've got to get this guy to a hospital. His injuries look severe.

"I'm going to take you to the hospital," I tell him, despite his lack of response earlier. I wrap his arm around my shoulders, clutch him around his waist, and stagger to my feet. This guy is heavy. He's taller than my 5'9", probably about 6', and from what I felt of his shoulder, he's incredibly built. All that muscle is hard for me to lift. He's dazed, but he's stumbling with me towards my car, so I think it's progress. I manage to open the passenger door with one hand and guide him in the seat. His eyes flutter and I see a flash of beautiful gray green eyes under his thick, dark lashes.

I dash back to the driver's side and hop in, starting the car.

"Now where's the hospital? I think it's over on Green, which I think is back that way..." I shift the car into drive and start to pull onto the road when a hand closes over my wrist in a painfully tight grip. I gasp and look over at my injured passenger. He's staring at me so intensely that I feel like I should be melting. His hair, his eyebrows, the stubble growing in on his cheeks is dark, dangerously dark, and those eyes are so bright within their dark surroundings.

"Don't... don't take me to the... hospital," he manages. His voice is smoky, but there's an edge behind those words.

I'm shocked that he doesn't want to go to the hospital. After a moment of surprised silence, during which I stare open-mouthed at him, I finally splutter, "Well, where do you want to go? You're hurt, you need help!"

His eyes close briefly. "Where... do you live?"

"Not far. I think." He frowns at me, and I rush to explain. "I just moved here a few days ago. Still trying to figure out where everything is."

"Take me there."

"Take you... to my house? Why not your place? I don't often invite over strangers I just met."

He cries out in pain, then presses his lips together firmly. He has closed his eyes and his head is turned away from me. My heart twists to hear him in pain, and I wonder again why he's refusing the hospital.

"Fine, we'll go to my house." I pull the car back on the road and continue on to my house. "What have I gotten myself into this time?" I mutter under my breath. He twitches, but says nothing.

After a short moment of silence, I glance over at him. His breathing is shallow and his eyes are still closed. "Hey, you awake?" He doesn't answer, so I reach over and touch his shoulder again, nudging. He starts and his eyes snap open. For a second I think he's about to bite my hand off.

"You should probably not sleep with those injuries."

"I don't think this is... that kind of injury."

"Well, to be honest, your injuries are kind of freaking me out. And I'm afraid of what might happen if you sleep, okay?"

I think I see the corners of his mouth move up, but when I look at him, his face is serious. "Then talk to me. That will keep me awake."

"Okay... well, I'm Valerie Peters, and like I said, I just moved here for my job. I'm an astronomer, and I figured it would be easier to study the sky in a smaller town."

"Good observation."

"But that type of work doesn't really have a steady cash flow, so I'm also looking for a waitressing job on the side. What's your name?"

"Derek. Derek Hale. Did you move far to come here?"

"Not too far. I'm from a small town in southern Oregon, very close to the border of California. So a few hours."

"Your family there?"

"Some, yeah. I have an older sister who moved to Florida because she didn't like the cold in Oregon. Even though it's not that bad. What about you? Is your family here?"

He's quiet a moment. "Most of them are dead."

There's a moment of silence during which my innards turn to ice and I kick myself internally. Ugh, this is one of those moments I wish I'd been tongue tied. "Oh my gosh. I'm sorry."

"You didn't know."

We're both quiet the rest of the short drive. I have no idea how to respond to his last statement, so I keep my mouth shut. He's wincing, his face in a grimace, so I assume his pain is too great to think of something to say. I lose myself in my thoughts, mostly wondering what on earth possessed me to pick up this stranger, put him in my car, and take him to my house. I debate whether I should just force him out, but he seems genuinely injured and I'm not getting the con artist vibe from him.

I pull up to my tiny house and put the car in park. "We're here," I announce. He replies with a grunt. I help him out of the car and guide him to the house. He leans heavily on me, and I catch a whiff of a musky, sexy scent coming off him. My gosh, he smells amazing. Aside from the fresh blood, of course. I try not to pant as I support him to my couch.

He collapses there and inhales sharply. "I need you to... bind the wounds. Do you have... old sheets to use... as binding?"

"Yeah, I'll grab them." I turn and start to head to my closet, where the box of unpacked bathroom and bedroom items are.

"Valerie."

I look back and find his eyes on me. "You'll need to... clean them as well."


	2. Chapter 2: Derek

**DEREK**

Pain. That's all I can feel, all I can think about. I can't even remember why I hurt so bad, all over, or what caused it.

I'm not healing, that much I know. Whatever it was, it must have had Wolfsbane. My ribs throb, a deep fire burning me from within. They're probably broken. My arm feels numb, a dull coldness I've never experienced.

My eyes are closed. It's too much work to open them. I'm lying on a hard, uncomfortable surface. I feel like I've been dragged through hell and back. What the hell happened to me?

A flash, a glimpse of the Argents. Attacking. The old man they called in wants to be rid of all werewolves, and since I'm the Alpha, I'm the biggest target.

What happened to my pack? I slog through my mind, trying to find the answer. They were... distracted. Led into some trap to keep them busy, away from me. Scott... Scott was...

It's too much. I can't dig up the information. The pain is blocking me, a brick wall built around my memories that I've run into. I succumb to the pain and fade away into blissful oblivion.

The next thing I know, someone is kneeling next to me. An Argent? A hand - a delicate, female hand - is on my shoulder. She's saying something, but it's in a haze, like I'm underwater and she's speaking from the shore.

"...hear me?"

When I hear the final words, they're loud. It hurts me, a pounding in my brain. I groan.

She says something else, something that I block out. Then she's pulling my arm over her shoulders, grasping my waist. She's struggling to lift me, I can feel the strain in her muscles. I try to shift my weight, to assist her, but it's difficult to focus on simply putting one foot in front of the other.

She manages to get me into a car. It occurs to me that she could be a nasty female Argent I haven't yet had the displeasure of meeting, leading me to a trap. I work on getting my eyes open, and finally catch a glimpse of her.

She looks nothing like one of them (of course, this doesn't mean I should let down my guard). The biggest impression I get from her is golden blonde hair. Just past her shoulders in length, beautifully curly, blonde hair. Light hazel eyes. Lips a blush pink with a shade of coral.

I close my eyes again. The car door beside me closes, another opens, closes, and the car starts. Then I hear her say something about the hospital. Desperation hits me. There's no way I can go to the hospital. They would quickly figure out that I'm not normal. I'd never see the light of the moon again.

I grab her arm. She slams on the brakes in surprise. I can hear her heartbeat quicken.

"Don't...don't take me to the...hospital," I breathe. It's hard to speak with the feeling of someone sitting on my chest, crushing my ribs.

She stares at me, her perky mouth open. The shock is plain on her face. She is at a loss, doesn't know what to say.

"Well, where do you want to go? You're hurt, you need help!"

At her protestations, I close my eyes to block out her vivid look of concern. "Where...do you live?"

She hesitates for a moment. "Not far. I think."

What the hell does that mean? My face darkens, and she adds, "I just moved here. Still trying to figure out where everything is."

New in town. I still shouldn't rule out the possibility that she's an Argent. I know how to be cautious. If she's a threat, it would be easy to eliminate her at her house. Not many would even know she lives there.

"Take me there," I say.

"Take you...to my house?" she squeaks. "Why not your place? I don't often invite over strangers I just met."

She's suspicious. Either she's an Argent, or she's smart to question my intentions.

I shift in my seat - a terrible idea. My ribs grate together and the pain brings a cry to my lips. It's embarrassing, this outburst of pain, showing my weakness. I turn away from her, eyes closed, as if by avoiding her face I can pretend she didn't hear me.

I sense a change of heart pass through her, and suddenly she says, "Fine, we'll go to my house." Then she mutters under her breath, so a normal human wouldn't be able to decipher her words. I, however, am no normal human.

"What have I gotten myself into this time?'

I find myself surprised by her words and my head gives an involuntary twitch. I quickly turn away again to cover that I heard her. So far, she seems... well, like a normal human. If she's not, she's a fabulous actress.

As my eyes close again and I lean back against the headrest, I tell myself firmly that she could be exactly that: a fabulous actress, designed by the Argents to draw me in, to find me at a weak point (which, I may say, they already have me on), and to eliminate me. Who would expect this girl to be a murderer?

She's said something, I realize, but I've missed it. I've been too involved with my own thoughts. The next thing I know, her hand is on my shoulder, pushing me, and I jump at the touch. The image of her stabbing me with silver and Wolfsbane is fresh in my mind. I fix her with a glare so deep, I can actually see the shiver that runs down her spine.

"You should probably not sleep with those injuries," she informs me.

Again, I'm taken aback by her concern. I watch her as she glances between me and the twisting road, then finally answer, "I don't think this is... that kind of injury."

"Well, to be honest, your injuries are kind of freaking me out. And I'm afraid of what might happen if you sleep, okay?"

I can't stop the tiniest of smiles that crosses my face before I regain control. "Then talk to me. That will keep me awake." And alert so you don't kill me, I add in my mind.

"Okay... well, I'm Valerie Peters, and like I said, I just moved here for my job. I'm an astronomer, and I figured it would be easier to study the sky in a smaller town."

"Good observation."

"But that type of work doesn't really have a steady cash flow, so I'm also looking for a waitressing job on the side. What's your name?"

"Derek. Derek Hale. Did you move far to come here?" I'm hoping to figure out if she really is an Argent, or a hunter in general, before we get to her place.

"Not too far. I'm from a small town in southern Oregon. So a few hours," she answers easily. She's volunteering this freely. Too freely, I wonder?

"Your family there?"

"Some, yeah. I have an older sister who moved to Florida because she didn't like the cold here. Even though it's not that bad. What about you? Is your family here?"

I don't even want to answer the question, since the emotional pain is so great. But I should have seen it coming, as I've been grilling her. "Most of them are dead."

She inhales through her mouth, that pink-peach mouth again, and it causes a small gasp, one that would have gone unheard in most cases. "Oh my gosh. I'm sorry."

"You didn't know."

She falls silent after this, and I'm in no mood to continue. The upheaval that crashes through me whenever my family is brought into light depresses me. I can hear the cries of my family as they are burned to death in that house, can see my sister in front of me, cut clean in half.

The car comes to a stop and she cheerfully tells me we've arrived. I make a noise of acknowledgement under my breath and leave it at that. As she's helping me out of the car and up the walk, I survey the house. A small, white ranch with blue shutters. No other car in the driveway, but the garage is closed, so I can't be sure someone else isn't here.

As we enter, I can smell that no one else is in the house. I suddenly focus on the fact that this tall, beautiful woman is pressed against me, with her arm around me. She's breathing fast, and it rouses the wolf in me. It feels... good. It's been awhile since I was so close to a woman. Last time was with...

Kate.

I fall to the couch and the pain (the physical and the memories) make me gasp in a breath. "I need you to... bind the wounds. Do you have... old sheets to use... as binding?"

"Yeah, I'll grab them." She starts to walk off, but I call her back.

"Valerie."

She turns, meeting my eyes with her hazel ones. "You'll need to... clean them as well."


	3. Chapter 3: Valerie

**VALERIE**

I clench my jaw hard as the thought of concentrating on and cleaning a bloody wound hits me. Nausea floods me. Oh my gosh, there's no way I can do this. Me, the girl who gets sick watching gory movies. I start to shake my head, my expression terrified.

"Please, Valerie. I wouldn't ask... if it wasn't important." His eyes implore me.

Swallowing, I nod. "I-I'll do what I can."

He reaches out to me. "Will you... help me get my... shirt off?"

My heart thumps loudly in my chest and fills my ears. Oh my gosh. Anticipation replaces the uneasiness in me.

I kneel beside him and first pull the leather jacket off, tossing it on the chair next to the couch. My hands grasp the hem of his shirt. His face is a foot from mine, and I look up into those gray green eyes. Slowly he raises his arms as a tingling kind of static builds in me. I draw the shirt up, matching his tempo, and my eyes drop to watch the progress. As his stomach is revealed I'm confronted with incredible ripped abs. I've seen chests like this on TV, but never in reality. The shirt covers his face as his pecs are uncovered. He is luscious. His body is sculpted like it walked straight from a museum. Desire strikes me, fills me, and I long to touch him. The shirt drags over his shoulders and his lips show. I have a new focus, those straight lips that look so soft, so kissable.

As he pulls free of the shirt, I have to mentally force back my desire. I pause and look at him. He meets my gaze with a quizzical expression. I swallow and hurry to my bedroom. Safely out of sight, I place a hand on my chest and let out a long breath.

"Oh. My. Gosh. Hot," I whisper, and fan myself with my other hand.

As my pulse returns to a normal rate, I grab the sheets, fill a bucket with warm water, and head back to Derek's side.

This is the part I'm dreading. I had avoided looking at the gash on his chest and arm purposefully when taking off his shirt - and yeah, I'd also been distracted by that incredibly hot body. But now, not only would I have to look at the cuts, I would have to concentrate on them in order to wash them.

I'm trembling as I dip the sheet in the bucket of water. Derek reaches over and puts his hand on my arm.

"Valerie. You can do this." His eyes are steady, and his voice is calm. The fact that he seems confident makes my nervousness shrink. I take a deep breath.

"I can do this," I repeat. A smile flits across his lips before they're back in a firm line.

I start with the cut in his arm, dabbing the wound with the water soaked sheet. The blood has dried and is dark red, and in places is even darker, mixed with dirt. As I clean it, the dirt washes away and the dark red blood turns lighter. Derek's hand is clenched in a fist and he hisses with pain as I work, but he stays surprisingly still. His other hand is wrapped around the arm of the couch and is gripping so tight I'm almost certain the arm will collapse with the pressure.

The gash in his chest is much more difficult. It's deep, jagged, long. I swallow hard before I start on it, then realize I'm breathing through my mouth, trying to avoid smelling all the blood. I have to look away several times while I'm working. At one point I look up into his eyes and catch him staring at me. I lose my breath, and it's a few seconds before I recover.

"Derek, I think this one needs stitches. It's... it's bad."

He shakes his head. "I'll be... okay," he pants, "Just get it done."

I continue my work. At one point, he howls and grabs my wrist. His fingers dig into my skin and I gasp and drop the wet sheet. He's breathing hard and his eyes are closed, his eyebrows drawn together. When he doesn't release me right away, I start to feel uneasy.

"I'm almost finished," I say, my voice tremulous.

Slowly he opens his eyes and his grip on my arm relaxes. I stay still a moment, wondering if I shouldn't make any sudden movements. He exhales a long breath, looking at his hand on mine. Suddenly he lifts my arm and studies it. Marks are reddening on my wrist from his fingers. He stokes his thumb over one of the red imprints. My heart is pounding, first from fear, now from a sparking sort of excitement.

"Sorry. I... needed a moment."

"No worries. Are you okay? Should I finish up?"

He nods, so I pick up the sheet and dunk in the water, squeezing out the excess. This time as I press the sheet against the gash, he inhales sharply. What he really needs is a distraction.

"When are you going to tell me how you got these awful cuts?" I ask.

"I'm not," he answers through clenched teeth.

"Why, you want me to guess? Fine. Let's see... I bet it's something embarrassing... you were... trying to walk off one too many drinks while out in the forest when you tripped and fell down a steep hill, and on the way, crashed into some nasty rocks."

He frowns at me.

"Oh, the tripping only due to intoxication, not because of lack of coordination, of course," I add.

There's a very small change in his eyes, a slight squint as the corners crinkle, but that's the only reaction. His lips stay in a firm line.

"That's not it? Hmm. Okay, then I bet you were trying to play doctor with some girl, but she thought you really meant it and actually cut you. And then she got freaked out when you told her you weren't serious and ran away screaming."

He smiles this time, very briefly. Inwardly I feel the glow of success. It's working!

"No? In that case, I think you got these while being a hero. A kid got in the path of an angry bear, and you ran in and got swiped by the bear instead of the kid," I say as I finish up. Making him the hero has to make him feel good, right?

Wrong. I look up as I drop the sheet into the bucket and start at the expression on his face. He's frowning, not in pain, but something else. Anger?

"Why do you think I'm a hero?"

What do I say to that? "Um... I'm sorry, I was just... making things up. I'm done cleaning. I'll bind you up and then you'll be all set," I say, shifting the topic of conversation quickly.

To bind his chest, I have to wrap my arm around behind him with the clean sheet. I'm sitting beside him on the couch, and I have to lean very close in order to get my arm around him. My mind can hardly move as I'm just inches from him, maybe closer, and I weave the sheet in a circle. Just being this close, I can feel the heat from his body, and I catch that delicious scent again. Oh man, I hope I smell that good to him. He shifts when I'm nearly touching him with my arm behind him and my cheek brushes against his. His stubble grazes me, leaving my cheek tingling at the contact. My lips touch his ear, light as a butterfly's kiss. As this happens, I breathe in quickly and he leans back an instant later.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I'm repulsive to him. That must be why he pulled away. Damn!

I hurry the process along and finish wrapping him. In a rare moment of boldness, I place my hand on his bare chest as a counterbalance as I tape the end of the binding. His skin is surprisingly soft and smooth and... very warm. I feel a shudder run through him at my touch, but this time he doesn't move back. Pretending that I haven't noticed any discomfort he has at my touch, I tape the sheet in place and hold for a moment, my hand still on his chest.

"You're all bandaged up," I inform him. I remove my hands. "Thank you for choosing Peters Medical Center for your medical needs. Can I get you anything?"

Again just a tiny change, the crinkles around his eyes. "Water?"

"Sure!" I head into the kitchen and fill a glass. Handing him the glass of water, I glance out the front window. It's almost completely dark out, with only a few hardy streaks of purple remaining in the sky. I can already see several stars, including the Big Dipper.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize it was so late already. I'll get you some blankets and a pillow."

"You don't have to do that."

"What else would I do? Send you out in the night with those injuries?" I shake my head. "You will obviously be staying at the Peters Bed and Breakfast for the night." I leave to fetch the items before he can protest.

I only have two pillows, both of which I use on my own queen bed at night. Oh well. Beggars can't be choosers, right? I grab one of the pillows - hopefully I haven't drooled on it since its last wash - and some blankets and bring them out to the living room.

Derek had put his torn shirt back on in my absence - to my disappointment - and as I walk in he is tipping the glass up with his head back to finish the water. I watch his throat move as he swallows. He meets my eyes as he brings the glass down.

"More water?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome," I answer as I move to his side to put the pillow down. "I'm just glad I was there to help. What would you have done if I hadn't come along?"

He shrugs. "Probably be dead."

"Don't even say that! That's terrible," I say, shuddering. He remains silent, impassive, as I study him to see if he's joking. Either way, it's an awful thing to say. I don't want to think about this gorgeous stranger being dead.

The pause stretches after his comment. He looks out the window, then at my door, then across the living room.

"You should get some rest," I finally say. He nods his agreement. "Goodnight, Derek," I say softly, and his eyes meet mine. His lips part and I heat up under his gray green gaze. For the briefest moment, I have visions of him pressing those lovely lips against mine.

Then he sits back down on the couch and breaks the spell I'm under. "Goodnight, Valerie."


	4. Chapter 4: Derek

**DEREK**

Instantly her jaw tightens, and her expression changes to one of terror. She shakes her head, her hair drifting across her face as she does. Is it for show, or is she really afraid to clean the wounds?

"Please, Valerie. I wouldn't ask... if it wasn't important." I make an effort to show the sincerity behind my words in my eyes. It is true; I need them to be cleaned, to at least take care of myself before my body begins to heal.

I hear her audible swallow, then she nods. "I-I'll do what I can."

I raise my arm, about to take my shirt off, but this awful pain has me dizzy from the effort. "Will you... help me get my... shirt off?"

She walks over to me, her pace slow, then kneels next to me. She helps me out of my jacket, which she tosses over to a nearby chair. When her fingers close around the bottom of my shirt, she looks up at me, and I think again of how close she is, how beautiful her expressive hazel eyes are. The wolf rages within me, hungry to get out, hungry for _her. _I have to struggle against the wolf fiercely for a few moments, and when I notice her lips open and glistening, I almost fall to my animal desires. It's a relief when the shirt blocks my view of her, giving me a few precious minutes to reclaim myself. I focus on the pain of holding my arms up as a distraction. Although, she's been so gentle while pulling the shirt off, ensuring that she doesn't cause more hurt to my injuries.

Why the hell is this woman causing so much disruption within me? I am normally in complete control of myself, of the animal inside me. And how do I plan on sitting through her cleaning and binding the wounds?

She sits with the shirt in her hands, just looking at me. I've conquered myself for now, so I manage a raised eyebrow. Tossing the shirt next to the jacket, she flees the room. And I overhear another thing a normal person shouldn't be able to hear.

"_Oh. My. Gosh. Hot._"

I find myself chuckling. She's got some spirit. But I keep wondering if it's all for show.

She's quickly back with sheets and a bucket of water. As she wets the sheet in water, she avoids my eyes and her hands shake. Should I be afraid that she'll be the one passing out in fear, rather than me from the pain?

I touch her quavering arm and wait for her to look me in the eyes. "Valerie. You can do this," I tell her calmly.

She seems reassured by this gesture. "I can do this," she echoes. I smile briefly at her resolve before I steel myself for the agony to come.

She starts with my arm. The wound has left my entire arm feeling cold. At her first soft dab against the cut, my breath catches in my throat and I grab the arm of the couch. It doesn't so much hurt, which is frightening, but rather as she cleans, it feels like my arm fell asleep. And then I get a prickling sensation running through the wound and branching out, needles that climb my arm. Finally it returns to being numb. It's such a strange feeling that I draw in unsteady breaths through my teeth.

She squeezes out the now pink water from the sheet and moves to clean my chest. It must look bad, because she's swallowing and trying to avoid breathing through her nose. As soon as she touches the sheet to my body, the wound sparks, ignites into a blazing heat that burns under the surface. I jerk my head back, grinding my teeth together and squeezing my eyes shut. The agony is so intense, so white hot, I feel like I'm in the center of the sun itself. I long for the moon, and the beast inside lashes against its restraints, begging to be freed.

This is terrible. I can't focus on anything with the pain and it's hard to keep the wolf contained. I squint my eyes open to look at Valerie. Her face is twisted in a cross between revulsion and sympathy. She must feel my eyes on her, for the next moment she meets them and pauses in her work. It's a wonderful break from the burning.

"Derek, I think this one needs stitches. It's... it's bad," she says.

No, it doesn't. It won't need stitches once I finally start to heal again - which hopefully will be soon. I shake my head at her. "I'll be... okay. Just get it done." I'm breathing hard, with everything under my ribs being crushed from the pain.

She continues cleaning, and it's slow going. I close my eyes again. Calm the beast, beat back some of the fire within, I tell myself. It won't be long. This agony has to end.

But it's hard. And the animal is breaking through the chains. Suddenly my senses heighten and I can smell her. Woman smell. Her blood thudding just under the skin. Her bright lips, so full, open again. A wave of light honey colored hair falls forward. Her body close, her body... so close... the curve of her breast, her long legs... I want her bare skin against me, I want to feel her body beneath mine, I want her moaning with pleasure as I ravage her...

Another dab of the sheet. The pain shoots through me, interrupting my reverie, and now all I want is to change so I can dig my claws into her soft skin, to feel the blood drip from my hands, to sink my teeth into something...

No, no...! But I can't push this back in, I can't tie the beast back down. If that sheet presses against me one more time I will lose all control. She lifts it closer, closer...

I growl and snatch her arm, jerking it away from me. I'm clutching her wrist hard, my fingers sinking into her soft skin. I can't look at her yet, not until I'm calm, and I'm still panting.

"I'm almost finished." Her voice has a tremble that somehow helps to ease me. I am reassured by the fear in her voice, something that tells me she's not about to stab me in my moment of weakness.

I finally open my eyes and loosen my hand. She doesn't move, staying as still as a rabbit playing dead. I release a long breath and look at her wrist. Are those imprints on her arm? I raise her arm to get a closer look. Hell, I've left marks on her arm. Remorseful, I run my thumb along one of the marks. I'm shocked she hasn't run screaming from me or at least kicked me out of her house yet.

"Sorry. I..." I pause, trying to figure out how to explain myself. 'I almost either threw you to the ground, ripped off your clothes, and had violent, voracious sex with you, or ripped you to shreds after transforming into a werewolf' doesn't seem like a good answer. "I needed a moment."

"No worries. Are you okay? Should I finish up?"

At my nod, she grabs the sheet again and goes for the gash. I breathe in noisily, bracing against the wolf.

"When are you going to tell me how you got these awful cuts?" Her question comes as a surprise. But focusing on her question has me distracted from the wolf - which is a very good thing. Still, I'm not about to tell her the truth, especially when I'm not exactly sure what the truth is.

"I'm not."

She isn't put off in the least. "Why, you want me to guess? Fine. Let's see... I bet it's something embarrassing... you were... trying to walk off one too many drinks while out in the forest when you tripped and fell down a steep hill, and on the way, crashed into some nasty rocks."

Guess? I frown. What kind of trick is this?

"Oh, the tripping only due to intoxication, not because of lack of coordination, of course," she says hastily.

It's humorous, but I'm still suspicious. I don't respond, leaving my face impassive.

"That's not it? Hmm. Okay, then I bet you were trying to play doctor with some girl, but she thought you really meant it and actually cut you. And then she got freaked out when you told her you weren't serious and ran away screaming."

A smile plays with the edges of my lips for a brief moment. She's enjoying this now, feeling more confident of herself.

"No? In that case, I think you got these while being a hero. A kid got in the path of an angry bear, and you ran in and got swiped by the bear instead of the kid," she says.

I can tell she's trying to make me feel good, or flatter me or whatever, but it seems too over the top. Something that an Argent would say. My eyebrows crease again as I study her.

"Why do you think I'm a hero?"

She's definitely confused by my reaction; it shows on her face. "Um... I'm sorry, I was just... making things up. I'm done cleaning. I'll bind you up and then you'll be all set," she backpedals, trying to avoid the discomfort that is now flowing between us.

She has to sit beside me to start binding. The arm isn't bad; I rest my arm on the back of the couch while she winds a clean sheet around it. When she binds my chest, however, she has to lean close to get the sheet around my back. Her whole body moves forward, her head just next to mine, her neck in my sight. Her pulse is beating just under the translucent skin there.

No. Not again. Get ahold of yourself, Derek.

But I am slipping again, way too fast. She breathes in next to my ear, and my body moves. I can claim that my ribs were hurting, I was uncomfortable in my seat, or that it was involuntary, but the truth is I did it purposefully. Our cheeks glide against each other and her lips give a soft kiss to my ear. The breath hitches in her throat.

Too much, too much. I clench my hand and pull back, avoiding her eyes.

She hurries to finish, when unexpectedly, she places her hand directly on my bare chest. A vision of her hand there shoves itself to the forefront of my mind - her hand between our naked bodies, in the middle of a heated moment, another line of connection bringing us closer. Suppressing this thought take effort, and by then, she's completely done and her hand is gone.

I've missed something else she said, but she continues with, "Thank you for choosing Peters Medical Center for your medical needs. Can I get you anything?"

This gets a miniscule smile, one that hardly affects my lips. "Water?" I ask.

"Sure!" She's back in under a minute. As I start swallowing the water, I realize that I'm parched. I down half the water. Luckily, it's a big glass.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize it was so late already," she exclaims after glancing out the window. "I'll get you some blankets and a pillow."

I pause from drinking, feeling strangely guilty. She's already done so much by bringing me here and cleaning me up. "You don't have to do that."

"What else would I do? Send you out in the night with those injuries? You will obviously be staying at the Peters Bed and Breakfast for the night."

Another smile spreads across my face. I'm tempted to make a suggestive comment at the 'Peters Bed and Breakfast', but she's already out of the room.

If I'm going to stay here overnight, I should make an effort to be tasteful. Rising slowly to grab my shirt from the chair, I slip it over my head. She returns as I finish off the water.

"More water?"

I shake my head in response. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome. I'm just glad I was there to help. What would you have done if I hadn't come along?"

I honestly have no idea. Would the Argents have come back to finish me off? I lift my shoulders. "Probably be dead."

"Don't even say that! That's terrible." She looks at me like I'm supposed to tell her the truth, maybe even clue her in on what happened. My face slips into its standard expression - stony and unreadable.

As I think about settling down to sleep, I glance around the room, wondering if she's got any sort of security system. Probably not. But even so, that wouldn't be much good against the supernatural.

"You should get some rest," she tells me. I nod, resigned to a night of fitful, unrestive sleep. "Goodnight, Derek." The way she's said those words, so soft, yet warm... My eyes seek hers. I want to shout, to ask her if she's an Argent flat-out, to get it out of the way. If not, I would fall into her, take her in my arms, crush my lips onto hers.

I open my mouth, but of course I can't ask.

Instead, I sink onto the couch. "Goodnight, Valerie."


	5. Chapter 5: Valerie

**VALERIE**

I can't sleep. I mean, of course I can't. There's an attractive man on my couch, a mysterious stranger who'd needed my help. He's so odd, the things he frowns at and the way he won't tell me how he got the injuries. It makes me question my decision to trust him. I get the feeling he's hiding something. But that's crazy, right?

I wonder how long it will take for those gashes to heal. I'm almost hopeful that they _don't _heal quickly, so he's forced to stay longer with me.

Derek said most of his family is dead, which is awful. But does that mean he lives by himself? What does he do? Does he have a girlfriend? Is that why he leaned back after that electric - for me, anyway - brush of our cheeks while I was wrapping the sheet around him? Or why he seemed like he wanted to pull away when I put my hand on his chest, but just shivered and stayed there?

Restless, I change positions for approximately the thirtieth time, flipping over onto my stomach. My digital clock, resting on the nightstand next to my bed, reads 2:37 AM. I sigh heavily and try closing my eyes.

Oh man, his chest. He's so muscular that it's ridiculous. And sexy... I picture his beautiful gray green eyes just under those thick dark eyebrows... and I finally drift into sleep thinking of peeling off his shirt.

My dreams are intense. Beyond vivid; they feel like reality. And what a reality it is - Derek and I passionately embracing, while our bodies glisten from the heat and move against each other. The tempo grows more and more urgent. When my body hits its peak, the feeling is so forceful that my moan of ecstasy is more of a scream.

And when I open my eyes and find Derek standing at the foot of my bed, for a moment I assume I'm still dreaming. My heart is thumping like a set of drums, banging away.

But no, he is _actually_ standing there. For real. My face lights up like Rudolph's nose. I'm embarrassed, but I'm also creeped out by the fact that I woke up to find him standing over me.

Before my mind can sift through various scenarios in which I am murdered by a psycho serial killer, he speaks up. "Sorry I woke you, but you made some noise and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh," I say out loud, but what I'm really thinking is 'Holy CRAP, did I actually shout in my sleep due to a sex dream - involving you?!' I manage a smile, but I can't meet his eyes. How humiliating. I guess I should be grateful he was concerned. "Thanks."

He answers with a nod, while I take a peek at the clock. It reads 8:14 AM, which is both good and bad, I suppose. Bad because I only slept for about five hours, and good because I'd managed to sleep at all.

When I turn back to Derek, he seems to be struggling. His face is twisted, his brows furrowed together, his lips open but issuing no sound.

He seems to come to a resolution in the end, because he blurts out, "I'm going to go."

It's such a ridiculous thought that I can't even comprehend it. "What?"

"I'm leaving," he repeats.

I begin shaking my head, my mussed curls caressing my cheeks and neck as I do. "There's no way. No way I'm letting you leave when you shouldn't even be standing. Aren't you in pain?"

He hesitates, eyeing me with pale green eyes. "I'm going," he says stubbornly. But then he winces and I know I've won.

"See? You're definitely not leaving. At least not until you've had some breakfast." I shove the sheet down and shift to the edge of my bed. And only now, as I look down at my bare, tanned legs, do I realize I'm wearing my ultra-short sleep shorts and a thin tank top. "You go sit down, I'll be right out."

He leaves quietly, and even pulls the door closed behind him. I had been planning on simply wrapping one of my large, comfy sweaters around me, but since he shut the door, I should change. I throw on jeans and a plain black v-neck shirt, draw my hair into a ponytail, and rinse my face. And now I'm ready to cook breakfast for the man who stayed the night in my house. Which has never happened to me before.

Derek is seated at the small table in my dining room slash kitchen. The whiskers on his cheeks are even thicker now that he's gone without shaving, and his dark hair is messy. But it makes him look even sexier, this I-just-woke-up look, more so as he woke up in _my_ house. His pale green eyes are surveying my kitchen as I enter, but he quickly turns to me, his face blank. I smile at him, hoping that my hospitality has and will put him at ease.

"I really should-" he begins, but I rush to cut him off.

"Psh. The Peters Bed and Breakfast does not kick its guests out as soon as they've woken up. Now, what would you like for breakfast? I have eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, bagels, cereal, fruit, coffee, orange juice, milk…?"

He gives me what appears to be a wary look.

I shrug. "If you don't tell me, I'm just going to have to make everything so you eat something."

He concedes, "Bacon and eggs sound good. And coffee."

"Great. And I want sausage and fruit, as well." I begin pulling the ingredients out of my fridge in preparation and start up the coffee.

"Do you need any help?" he asks while rising to his feet.

I wave at him to sit back down. "No, I'm fine. So how did you sleep?"

"Okay," he replies nonchalantly. Uh oh. I look to read his face, worried that something I did or didn't do caused him a bad night. As soon as he catches my expression, he amends, "I mean, fine. As good a night a person can get when dealing with… my situation."

Relieved, I return my attention to the food. The coffee is chugging away, dripping steadily into the pot, and the bacon and sausage sizzle. A delicious smell begins to permeate the air.

While I'm stirring the eggs and rinsing the fruit, I inquire, "What do you do for a living, Derek?"

"I…" His eyes shift away from mine. Why would he be hesitating on a simple question like this, I wonder? "I dabble… in things."

Essentially, he does nothing? A slight frown tugs down the corners of my lips and presses my eyebrows together.

He continues, his pace slow, but the words are clipped, "When my family died, I inherited some money. It gives me the freedom to do what I choose."

Wow. Gorgeous _and_ rich? Isn't that usually a recipe for disaster? Well, either disaster or Bruce Wayne.

"Astronomy, right?" he asks, to which I nod. "How does one get into that?"

"Astronaut dreams reined in a little closer to home," I answer, laughing. He cracks a smile. "Seriously, though, I did want to be an astronaut as a kid. How cool would it be to walk on the moon? But then I got older and realized that becoming an astronaut was a pipe dream. There are obviously a lot of requirements for it and so many things can go wrong when you're in space. I don't know if I'm ready to risk my life in such a way, you know? Another factor is that I can get motion sickness. It's not bad, but on roller coasters where you get that weightless feeling, I get sick. Whereas when I look at stars through my telescope, I get the same joy, the same fulfillment, but without the life endangerment and the sickness."

During this time, the food has been fully prepared and I'm getting out dishes, cutlery, napkins, and mugs. I bring the food and coffee over to the table and sit down next to Derek. He murmurs a thanks and we both dig in.

I endure the silence – minus the clink of silverware against the plates – and let us chew for a while, but I'm itching to know more about him. I've been doing most of the talking so far, and I feel that it's about time I get to ask some questions of my own, without the vague answers he seems to enjoy giving me. I steel myself for a grilling session.

"How long have you lived in Beacon Hills?" I ask.

He takes a gulp of coffee. "I lived here as a kid, up through high school. After… after my parents died, I took off. Went to New York for a few years. I came back recently, after the death of my sister."

Oh my gosh, what a tragic life he's led. To have both parents die first, then a sibling? I can't bear to think of it. My immediate family is alive and well, and I'd like it stay that way. Still, he's not the type who seems to enjoy pity, so I do my best to hide the sympathy from my face.

I'm still curious, though. I approach my next question hesitantly, cautiously. "How... Do you mind if I ask how they died?"

He grimaces, pausing with a piece of bacon in his fingers. "A fire in my old house killed my parents. My sister and I escaped because we were in school at the time. And Laura, my sister… she was murdered."

"What?" I gasp, before I can clamp down my mouth.

"Yeah."

Whoa. Holy crap! I want to ask how, and by whom, and if they caught the psycho who did it, and who would do something like that, but I can plainly see that it's tearing him up. His face is twisted, despite his efforts to hide the emotional turmoil, and he's stopped eating. I change the subject.

"By the way, do you want me to call anyone, to tell them what happened and where you are?" _In other words, do you have a girlfriend?_

"No, I'll talk to them later-" he begins, but he's cut off by the chirping of my house phone. We both look toward the sound, where the phone rings in my kitchen beside the fridge.

"You can get that, if you want," he tells me.

"No, that's okay."

The answering machine picks up after the fourth ring. "_Hi, sweetie, it's mom,_" says my mother's voice through the machine. Of all the times she could call, she just had to call right now?

Derek meets my eyes and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. 'Are you sure?' he's asking.

"_I hope you're settling in okay. I just wanted to call and check in. Listen, I was talking to one of my friends from California and apparently she has a son your age who's single._" I can't get out of my seat fast enough to dash towards the phone. In the meantime, she's still going. "_He sounds like a great guy_ _and I'm sure he'd love to meet you. I can have her set something up if you're interested-_"

I grab the phone from its cradle. "Hi, mom."

"Oh, hi, honey! I assumed you weren't home. I hope I didn't wake you."

"You didn't, but I'm kind of-"

"Good, good. Did you hear the message I was leaving? About the young gentleman in a town close by where you are?"

_Yes, mom, every humiliating word._ "Mom, I really can't talk right now." I shoot an apologetic glance over to Derek, who is actually leaning back in his chair with an amused expression. Wonderful.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Valerie. In the middle of something?"

I face the archway into the living room. "Yes. I have someone over."

My mother is frowning into the phone, I can tell. "This early?"

Rolling my eyes, I say as quietly as possible, "A guy. I'll call you later, okay?"

She might pass out from the shock first. "A guy?!" she squeaks.

"Bye, mom." I end the call and place the phone back on its perch, then return to the table silently.

"What was that about?" Derek queries curiously.

I try to put on a patronizing expression, but I think I'm failing miserably. I feel pathetic. My mother has to set up dates for her post-college daughter. "She can be a bit over-zealous."

"You don't have a boyfriend, then?"

"No," I respond, despondent. And no, I definitely do _not_ want to get into my dating life right now.

"Maybe your mother can find someone for me, too," he remarks.

My head jerks up as I look at him in surprise, completely forgetting my unhappiness. Did he really make a joke? His face is completely changed with his current expression. A wide grin is stretching across his face, and I can see his teeth. His eyes are jovial, and the creases in the corners of his eyes have deepened. I can't help laughing.

Then I notice it; the way he's leaning back in his chair, with his arms crossed over his chest. A position that, just last night, would have caused him extreme pain. A position that should still be causing him agony, given his reaction to the light pressure I'd applied while cleaning the wound.

"Derek," I say slowly, my eyes focused on his arms and chest, "let me take a look at your cuts."

He drops his arms to his sides immediately. "Why?" he challenges with a clenched jaw.

"Because I need to replace the binding." My voice is hard. I won't take no for an answer.

"That's not necessary. I'm fine," he says, and suddenly he is on his feet. I follow him, standing as well and placing myself in his path. Something is very wrong here.

"I insist," I say, inching towards him. He's looking around wildly, giving the impression of a cornered animal. "I want to make sure the cuts aren't infected."

When I'm a foot away, I reach out and touch his arm. He stills then, meeting my eyes. He seems resigned to let me do what I will; reluctant, but resigned. I begin to tug his shirt up, but he brushes my hands aside and pulls it off in one swift motion.

My hands are shaking as I undo the knot in the sheet. Why doesn't he want me to see this? Derek is completely unmoving, but his eyes are piercing me, watching my every move as I focus on unwrapping the sheet. The sheet unwinds and unwinds, the bundle in my hands growing larger as I get closer and closer to revealing the gash.

As the final wrapping around his chest drops away, my eyes widen in shock.

For his chest is completely smooth and free of any cuts or bruising.


	6. Chapter 6: Derek

**DEREK**

I know she's dreaming. I can hear her deep, steady breaths, indicating that she's asleep. Hell, it's possible that I'm dreaming, too. But when I overhear a cry from the bedroom she disappeared into, I bolt upright. I have to check on her. Just in case.

Her door isn't locked and glides open soundlessly when I push it. She's sprawled out on her back, her hair clinging to her forehead and neck, dressed in a simple black tank top and short, forest green cotton shorts. The silver sheets are tangled about her, partly covering her stomach and one leg, but her other leg - smooth and long - is on display. And she appears to be fine.

Seeing her like this, utterly relaxed and peaceful, yet sexy, I don't want to leave. The sleep from which I've roused myself has me in a lusty haze.

Then she stirs and opens an eye, and I thank the stars I'm wearing jeans.

But I look like a stalker, hovering at the foot of her bed, watching her. As soon as she focuses on me, she sits up, alert and cautious. Her cheeks are flushed to magenta.

"Sorry I woke you," I remark, "but you made some noise and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh." She gives me a shy smile, but her eyes are on the sheet and her blush deepens. "Thanks."

I nod. Another apology rises to my lips, but I've already said sorry. I clamp my jaw shut. Why does Valerie throw me off my game to such an extent? It's not like I'm being thrown, but rather I'm being launched. In a jet. I've got to get away from her, escape her spell.

Not only that, but I realize that my ribs no longer hurt, and the odd numbness has left my arm. I can't risk her coming to the same realization. Even if she's not a hunter, she'll know something isn't right about that.

"I'm going to go," I tell her suddenly. Now that I've decided I should go, I don't want to linger.

She stares at me, her eyes still dull with sleep's fog. "What?" she asks.

"I'm leaving," I say again.

Slowly, she shakes her head. Her slept-in waves are drift back and forth. "There's no way. No way I'm letting you leave when you shouldn't even be standing. Aren't you in pain?"

She's got me there. "I'm going," I respond, but it's weaker this time. And since I don't want to arouse her suspicions – that is, if she doesn't already know that I've healed – seeing how any normal person should be in severe pain right now, I wince. It's both a pretend 'I'm hurt' wince and also a flinch that I'm not playing the part of normal human very well.

If she's caught on to anything strange, she doesn't show it. She simply says, "See? You're definitely not leaving. At least not until you've had some breakfast." As she throws the sheet off and moves to get up, I _do_ feel hungry… and not just for food. She pauses. "You go sit down, I'll be right out."

It's a good thing to have me to leave the room, although I do it with a sense of longing. I shut the door softly, hoping the barrier between us might break this strange connection I'm feeling with her. I doubt it will.

I head into the kitchen and dining room area, which is separated by a countertop. The table in the dining area seats four people. As I sit and wait for her return, I survey the room. There are no strange, unlabeled jars that might contain Wolfsbane, and no glittering sharp knives sitting on the counter begging to be used on a helpless wolf. There's a door next to the table that leads to her backyard, but the blinds are down, so I can't see what waits outside. I have to fight the urge to jump up and race through the door, leaving her behind. So far she's shown no signs of being a hunter or an Argent, but I'm reluctant to give my trust to anyone.

When she joins me in the kitchen and dining area, she's dressed in form fitting jeans and a simple black shirt with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. The windows in her kitchen don't have a shade or curtain over them, so the sun is peeking in, its light pale and timid.

Now that my head is no longer cloudy from my injuries, I feel as though I'm looking at her for the first time. The sun gives her hair a glow, a reflection upon golden strands. The color of her hair isn't plain golden blonde; it's the color of a newly rising sun, with all shades of yellow and even threads of copper woven throughout. Her eyes are several various hues of brown, but the outer edge is ringed with a light green. She turns to me and smiles, her coral pink lips playful and tempting. In other words, she's beautiful.

And I'm even more anxious to go.

"I really should-" I start, but she's quick to interrupt.

"Psh. The Peters Bed and Breakfast does not kick its guests out as soon as they've woken up. Now, what would you like for breakfast? I have eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, bagels, cereal, fruit, coffee, orange juice, milk…?"

Is she being polite, or is this over-accommodation to throw off suspicion?

She lifts her shoulders. "If you don't tell me, I'm just going to have to make everything so you eat something."

To pacify her, I say, "Bacon and eggs sound good. And coffee."

"Great. And I want sausage and fruit, as well." When she begins grabbing things from the fridge and preparing the coffee maker, I begin to feel guilty. So far, she has given me absolutely no reason not to trust her. I'm essentially just being a jerk.

I start to stand. "Do you need any help?"

She waves a hand at me and frowns until I sit back down. "No, I'm fine. So how did you sleep?"

"Okay," I answer, looking down at my hands until I notice she's staring at me anxiously, probably assuming she did something wrong as a hostess. I quickly add, "I mean, fine. As good a night a person can get when dealing with… my situation."

She's working steadily on the food when she asks, "What do you do for a living, Derek?"

"I…" Well, that question came out of nowhere. I turn my head away from her. And how do I respond to it? 'I actually spend most of my time trying to control my werewolf instincts and teaching others, since I'm leader of the pack' won't exactly work. "I dabble… in things."

The frown that crosses her face draws her eyebrows together. It's obvious that she doesn't approve. What can I say to change that?

"When my family died, I inherited some money. It gives me the freedom to do what I choose." She seems to accept this, despite the fact that it's a terribly shabby explanation. I want to change the subject before she can pry anything more out of me on that subject. "Astronomy, right?" I inquire, and she nods as a response. "How does one get into that?"

She's already grinning before she answers. "Astronaut dreams reined in a little closer to home," She says, and laughs. Her cheerfulness is hard to resist, and I break into a tiny smile. She continues, "Seriously, though, I did want to be an astronaut as a kid. How cool would it be to walk on the moon? But then I got older and realized that becoming an astronaut was a pipe dream. There are obviously a lot of requirements for it and so many things can go wrong when you're in space. I don't know if I'm ready to risk my life in such a way, you know? Another factor is that I can get motion sickness. It's not bad, but on roller coasters where you get that weightless feeling, I get sick. Whereas when I look at stars through my telescope, I get the same joy, the same fulfillment, but without the life endangerment and the sickness."

She gets out dishes while I'm taking in all this information. It seems too detailed to be something a hunter came up with for explanation. As she mentions life endangerment, I think of how the Argents would treat her if she wasn't with them and they found out she'd helped me. Another reason I should have gone when I had the chance.

She carries everything over and sets it down. I thank her before I begin eating with relish. She's quiet for a bit while we chew, but I can see her studying me with curiosity.

"How long have you lived in Beacon Hills?" she queries.

I swallow coffee before I answer. "I lived here as a kid, up through high school. After… after my parents died, I took off. Went to New York for a few years. I came back recently, after the death of my sister."

The honest answer makes her pause for several moments. I'm trying to ignore the anger and clenching in my stomach, push back the thoughts I have and the images that come to mind when I think of my family, and take a vicious bite out of the bacon I'm holding.

Her inevitable question comes, however, and she approaches it carefully. "How... Do you mind if I ask how they died?"

Laura. That tormented expression on her otherwise lifeless face. Charred corpses, all that remains of my parents. "A fire in my old house killed my parents. My sister and I escaped because we were in school at the time. And Laura, my sister… she was murdered."

"What?"

"Yeah."

The room becomes so quiet, I can hear her heart beating and the gentle hiss of the coffee pot. I clench my jaw together, and my free hand tightens under the table. Those images fill me with such powerful emotions that it's tough to keep myself under control. I can't look at her, so I close my eyes and focus on not allowing my fingernails to turn into claws.

She allows me to recover. Once the thrumming in my body stops, I open my eyes.

"By the way, do you want me to call anyone, to tell them what happened and where you are?"

I think of Scott first, then of Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. "No, I'll talk to them later-" I start to say. A loud ringing cuts me off. I follow her eyes across the room, to a phone next to the fridge.

"You can get that, if you want."

"No, that's okay," she says.

After a few rings, the answering machine comes to life. "_Hi, sweetie, it's mom,_" a woman's voice begins.

I turn back to Valerie and raise my eyebrows. She bites her bottom lip and I'm momentarily distracted.

The disembodied voice continues, "_I hope you're settling in okay. I just wanted to call and check in. Listen, I was talking to one of my friends from California and apparently she has a son your age who's single._" Valerie practically knocks her chair over in her haste to get up. She's running to the phone, but her mother keeps talking, "_He sounds like a great guy_ _and I'm sure he'd love to meet you. I can have her set something up if you're interested-_"

Valerie snatches the phone up and hits a button. "Hi, mom."

It's terrible, but I can't resist. I listen in on the conversation, wondering if Valerie needs her mother to set up dates for her, or if her mom is just one of those types who gets into her daughter's business.

"_Oh, hi, honey! I assumed you weren't home. I hope I didn't wake you_."

"You didn't, but I'm kind of-"

"_Good, good. Did you hear the message I was leaving? About the young gentleman in a town close by where you are?_"

Valerie must get her interrupting skills from her mother. I chuckle at the thought, sitting back in my chair.

"Mom, I really can't talk right now." Valerie glances over at me, and then looks away just as quickly.

"_Oh, I'm sorry, Valerie. In the middle of something?_"

She moves into the archway that leads to the living room. "Yes. I have someone over."

"_This early?_"

Lowering her voice to a level just above a whisper, Valerie says, "A guy. I'll call you later, okay?"

"_A guy?!_" comes the shrieked response.

"Bye, mom." Valerie hangs up without waiting for another word from her mom and returns to the table looking flustered.

"What was that about?" I ask, examining her.

She runs a hand through her ponytail and I can clearly see when she smiles and shrugs that her attitude is faked. It only serves to make me more interested in the situation.

"She can be a bit over-zealous," Valerie tells me.

"You don't have a boyfriend, then?"

"No," she answers, looking miserable. She's clearly embarrassed and doesn't want to explain.

At her answer, I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I'm… happy she's not attached to anyone? The thought catches me, but I move on quickly.

"Maybe your mother can find someone for me, too," I say as lightly as I can.

She looks up at me, startled, her blonde hair bobbing at the movement. Her full lips are open in surprise as she studies my widening grin. Then she tosses back her head and laughs, a noise that is so pleasant, I'm filled with pride to know I caused it.

As she brings her head back down, her eyes flicker over my chest. The smile on her face slowly subsides and is replaced with something else, something that has me feeling wary.

"Derek," she says, her hazel eyes intent on my chest, and my arms which are crossed over my chest, "let me take a look at your cuts."

I can't release my arms fast enough. But the damage has been done. She knows something is afoot. "Why?" I ask anyway, my tone angry.

"Because I need to replace the binding." She matches my tone, and I see determination in her eyes.

"That's not necessary. I'm fine," I tell her while I quickly get to my feet. She imitates me and puts herself in my way before I can move. How am I going to get out of this? Dammit, I _knew_ I shouldn't have stayed!

"I insist," she says. I have no options, no way to get around her without using my wolf abilities, and that would defeat the purpose. She adds, "I want to make sure the cuts aren't infected."

I hadn't even noticed how close she'd gotten, but she's only a step away when she touches my arm. That simple touch brings me to a halt. Her eyes meet mine, as if seeking approval, but she forages ahead without it. Her hands go to the bottom of my shirt, but her progress is too slow for me. Moving her hands out of the way, I slip out of the shirt effortlessly.

As she concentrates on working the knot in the binding, I watch her. Her long lashes shield her eyes from sight, but I can tell by the way her fingers tremble that she's both eager and frightened to see what's under the sheet. How will she react when she sees that my chest is free from any marring, that any hint of a gash is completely gone? What will she do? The sheet pools in her hands, growing larger with each second. I feel the end of the sheet slide free, exposing my uninjured chest to the air.

She turns white and her eyes widen in shock.

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To the guests who left reviews, since I can't respond personally I wanted to leave a note here. Thanks so much, I'm really glad you're all enjoying the story! I'm trying to update on a weekly basis, and so far so good. Stay tuned! :)


	7. Chapter 7: Valerie

**VALERIE**

I stare at his chest in disbelief. That… that's impossible! Last night, _just_ last night, I bandaged what appeared to be a wickedly deep cut. That was definitely less than twelve hours ago – and what guy heals from a cut like that in less than twelve hours? I would have guessed several days _at least_ – and even then there would be a scar. But Derek… his chest is perfect. No cuts, no scarring. It's perfectly fine.

Am I crazy? That did actually happen, right? I frantically dredge up the memories I have of yesterday, wondering if what I think happened really occurred. They definitely seem like true memories, not just figments of my imagination. But even if they weren't true, how would Derek have gotten in my house?

I scan through our conversations from this morning. That's right, he had mentioned something about his 'situation' when I asked how he'd slept, so I can't be imagining that whole 'found a guy bleeding by the side of the road' thing.

Eventually I look up at him and realize he's been watching me, waiting patiently for me to react.

"How…" My throat is drier than the desert. I swallow and try again, "How is that possible?"

His smoky green eyes search my face, as if trying to gauge how I will react to his answer. "Valerie…" He draws out my name, stretching the syllables. And then he breaks eye contact to shake his head, as if he's giving up before he even tried. "You won't believe me if I tell you."

What does that mean? My mind flies through various scenarios – he drugged me, I'm dreaming this whole situation up, and my personal favorite, he's an alien.

But I want to know the truth. I don't want him to give up without even saying anything. I _have_ to know. And it's making me panic that he's looking away, like he's ready to walk away without ever telling me anything.

I touch him on the cheek, and the gesture has him bringing his attention back to me. Putting on my most calm expression and steeling myself for the answer, I say, "Derek, it's okay. Please. Tell me."

My hand lingers on his cheek, the scruff of his beard tickling my palm. The feeling shivers through to my heart, where my blood begins to pump quicker than before. He has this strange expression, something I can't read. For a moment, I think he's going to raise his hand to mine, as his hand twitches, but he doesn't lift it. I lower my hand back to my side and wait.

"I have this condition… well, I consider it a gift. It gives me the… ability to heal much faster than normal," he tells me. His voice is low, and he seems hesitant to speak the words.

Out of all the answers I've been expecting, this seems… well, rather tame. It's still crazy, but not nearly as you're-out-of-your-mind insane. And not creepy, like the idea I had that he'd drugged me and I'd been hallucinating the whole thing.

So, he can heal quickly? That's pretty awesome, actually. But now I can understand his reluctance. If everyone knew it, some people might take advantage of his abilities. Like by forcing him to rob banks or something since he'd heal if he got injured. Or just hurting him outright, for the twisted, disturbing pleasure of it. I begin to feel sorrow for him, having to hide a piece of himself from everyone, keeping a secret like that.

"Wow," I whisper, and before I can stop the urge, I run my fingers lightly across his chest where the cut had been. His skin is smooth and heated beneath my touch. I feel the shudder run through him as my fingers trail along his skin, and before I can move away, he grabs my wrist. The breath catches in my throat as our eyes meet. My blood is pounding through my body, flushing my cheeks, and I long to be in his arms, to feel his lips on mine. However he is, as usual, unreadable, so I ask a question before I throw myself at him. "Can you die?"

As soon as the words form and fly past my lips, I feel like a complete idiot. I'm sure the answer is yes. That was the worst question I could have come up with.

He nods while staring down at me with those beautiful eyes. Something passes over his features and he releases my wrist. I pull away and think of another question before I feel the disappointment that he let go.

"Is it a genetic thing? Were you born with it, or was it something else?" _Like were you bitten by a radioactive spider or something?_

"You could say it's in the genes," he answers, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "Very rare genes." Then he sobers, the hint of a smile completely washed away. "You can't tell anyone, Valerie."

I nod, stating, "I understand. I won't say anything."

As I try to sift through all this new information and figure out which question I should ask next of the many bombarding me, he says, "I really need to get going."

I put aside my questions to focus on him. It's nice for him that, thanks to his condition, he can get up and go much faster than anyone else. While I'm sad that he has to go, I understand it. He must want to get back to his everyday life. Still, I want to spend as much time as I can with him. "Let me drive you," I say.

He begins to shake his head, to my dismay. "No, I can-"

"You can what? Walk? I'm not going to make you walk. And no, you're not going to call someone to pick you up when I can just take you myself. It's no trouble," I tell him firmly. Looking both amused and exasperated, he lifts his arms out in front of him in a gesture of surrender. I grin at him before I turn and grab my car keys and purse from my bedroom. We head back out the front door to my car.

"Where to?" I ask before I start the engine.

"I'll give you directions. You won't know by the address since you're new in town. Turn left out of the driveway." As I'm starting up the vehicle, Derek looks over at me. "Thank you for all your hospitality. I don't know what would've happened to me without you." He says the words gently, and it's like he's caressing my ears. I feel the ripples of a warming emotion that spreads quickly.

"You're welcome," I reply, hoping I've filled my words with as much sentiment as his held. I sneak a glance at him to gauge his reaction. His body is angled towards mine, his hands flexing in and out of fists in his lap. His eyes aren't quite as solemn as they usually are, but he's staring straight out the windshield. Not at me. Darn. "Since you told me about your healing ability, does this mean you're going to tell me what happened yesterday?"

"No," he responds flatly. I look over at him again in surprise, feeling wounded that he doesn't trust me enough to give me the story, and as I do, he catches my eyes. Exhaling, he adds, "It's not because I don't want to tell you. It's because I can't remember what happened."

"You don't remember?" I gasp.

"No," he replies abruptly, and he can't hide the frustration that smothers his answer.

"You can't figure out how you got on the side of the road, how you came to be injured, how-?"

"No," he says, interrupting me.

"Wow," I find myself saying for the second time in a matter of hours. There's a brief pause while I ponder this. "Do you think it could be because of your condition?"

He takes a moment to say something, and I notice a wry smile on his face when I peek at him. "I think that's exactly the reason."

Disgust floods me, and horror that people would want to hurt someone like Derek. Who could possibly want to hurt him? "That's sick! That people would want to harm you just because of what you can do!"

"You have no idea."

"What does it feel like? When you heal, I mean?" I ask, curious.

I can see him shrug his shoulders briefly out of the corner of my eye. "It… can be painful. It depends on the severity of the injury."

"So last night was…?"

"Not the greatest night of my life," he answers.

I drive silently for several minutes, with him giving me directions as needed. Even during the silence, I'm enjoying his company. It's not an uncomfortable quiet, at least not for me.

"What do you like to do for fun, Derek?"

"For fun?" he repeats, and it's almost like he has no idea what fun is. Despite having the 'freedom to do what he wants', due to his inheritance money. "I work out. Listen to music. I like being out in nature." He pauses briefly, then puts in, "I also… sort of mentor some kids in Beacon Hills." He abruptly ends his sentence, clamping his jaw shut.

"You do? That's really great, Derek." Could this guy be any more perfect? It's ridiculous, really, how amazing he actually is. The more I find out about him, the more I like him. The only problem is how reluctant he can be to share, and how poker-faced he is most of the time.

The road I'm driving on curves around through the trees and suddenly opens up into a meadow on either side, with knee-high, thin grass. The road becomes long, straight, and is one-lane. Further down on the left side is a gravel pull off for cars, where several large, black SUVs are parked. Several dark-clothed figures are moving through the grass near the trees.

"Stop the car," Derek orders rapidly. When I don't immediately comply, he grabs the wheel and jerks us off the road on the right. I let out a tiny yelp of surprise. "Stop the car!"

Heart pounding, I stomp on the brakes, causing the tires to squeal.

"Dammit," he mutters, as several of the figures take notice of us and start to head in our direction.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Turn the car around and get us out of here as fast as possible," he snaps.

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Reviews are very appreciated! Thanks for all the reviews so far! :)


	8. Chapter 8: Derek

**DEREK**

She's staring. She's simply staring, hasn't moved, hasn't blinked yet. As I wait for a reaction, I find that I'm nervous. I don't want her to run away from me or become frightened of me. The desire within me is to continue to be around her. I enjoy her company, as strange as that might seem for how completely opposite she is to me.

My mind spins in circles, wavering from one option to the next. To tell her or not to tell her? The possible outcomes blur by me, leaving me feeling dizzy and breathless. What should I do? I have this strange hunger to tell her, but how can I know, really know beyond a doubt, that she's not a hunter? Will I ever believe it, even with proof?

Will I ever get to a point where I'm able to open up enough to trust again?

She suddenly looks up at me with huge hazel eyes and I pause to think. Would telling her too much, telling her even the slightest bit, put her in danger? That's not what I want. She's so naïve, so trusting, so beautiful – I don't want to risk her life.

"How…" Her voice is hoarse, and she swallows before she continues, "How is that possible?"

But what else can I say? My brain hasn't come up with any other options. Her eyes are pleading with me, asking for the truth, begging for me to be honest, because the truth is all she will accept. It would hurt her to hear a lie, and therefore it would hurt me.

I resolve to tell her as much as I can without crossing the line. The werewolf line. Which is where most people would turn tail and run.

"Valerie…" I say, still trying to determine if this is the best option. She'll think I'm crazy, won't she? This can't be the best choice. I shake my head, looking anywhere but at her. "You won't believe me if I tell you."

She's probably dying of curiosity right now. The fact that I've completely healed from the other night, then act like there's a huge secret behind why I did so – which there is. How would she react if I didn't tell her? Would she be angry? Would she shrug it off? Kick me out of her house and never want to see me again? The image causes my throat to close.

Warmth brushes my cheek, and I realize Valerie has put her palm against my face, drawing my attention. Her expression is composed, but her peach-pink lips are parted to allow in air. My wolf groans at the sight, picturing my mouth devouring those lips, my tongue pushing into her open mouth and stroking hers.

"Derek, it's okay. Please, tell me," she says softly. Her heart picks up. I can hear it while she waits for my answer. The noise weakens the chains that hold down the monster, and once again, it is struggling to be set free. I fight to keep in control, while desire courses through my veins. Just to have her in my arms…

But no. I flex my fingers before they can lift to her hand, or to her waist, or anywhere else. She lowers her arm immediately after, breaking the connection and thus quieting my wolf.

While she waits patiently, I decide that if I have to give her something, it might as well be the truth. Part of it, anyway.

I tell her, "I have this condition… well, I consider it a gift. It gives me the… ability to heal much faster than normal."

It takes her a moment to process the information, during which I see several emotions slide over her. It's like I'm playing Wheel of Fortune and each slot is a different expression. I wonder which reaction I'll get when the wheel stops.

"Wow," she says quietly. Her eyes move to my chest and then her fingers follow. They trail across my chest, drawing an outline of where the gash had been. It comes as a surprise to me, and an involuntary shiver rolls down my spine. This time my hand does move, capturing her wrist. Now we're both breathing fast.

Why does she do this? Doesn't she realize the effect it has on me?

"Can you die?" The question is distracting, which I appreciate. Her cheeks slowly turn pink, as if she's embarrassed of her inquiry. I nod in answer. With effort, I let go of her arm and exhale a breath.

"Is it a genetic thing? Were you born with it, or was it something else?"

_You have no idea, _I think sarcastically. "You could say it's in the genes," I answer, trying not to smile sardonically. "Very rare genes." It occurs to me that it might not have been a good idea to tell her anything. I don't know what she's like around friends; it's possible she's a chatterer. Like Stiles. "You can't tell anyone, Valerie."

"I understand. I won't say anything," she says, bobbing her head. Her blonde hair swings around in its ponytail.

She's chewing through the information I dropped on her, like she's trying to work through how such a thing could be possible. I feel like a storm of questions might be brewing, and the last thing I want is to have to explain every detail. Because I might slip, might say something that reveals a little too much, something that stumbles into werewolf territory. And then there'd be _more _questions, until eventually she's calling the police or a mental hospital to have me locked up for my craziness.

"I really need to get going," I tell her. I really do. I've spent more than enough time here. It's surprising that Scott, Stiles, and my pack haven't sent out a search party yet – meaning themselves, because they'd be much better at tracking someone than a search team organized by the police.

"Let me drive you," she says.

Automatically I start shaking my head. No one needs to take care of me. "No, I can-"

"You can what? Walk? I'm not going to make you walk. And no, you're not going to call someone to pick you up when I can just take you myself. It's no trouble." She has a don't-even-think-about-arguing glint in her eyes, so I give up, raising my arms in surrender. This girl is a force to be reckoned with. A sudden grin lights up her face, and she dashes off to get her car keys.

Once we're in the car, she asks me for a destination.

I hadn't even thought of where I wanted to go. But Scott's house would be the perfect place to start, because first of all, I want to recap how I got into this situation. Secondly, because I can't figure out what he was doing when I got attacked, and that worries me.

Seeing as how Valerie doesn't know the town, I can't tell her an exact location. Plus, in the very rare case she is a hunter or Argent, I don't want her to have Scott's address. I say, "I'll give you directions. You won't know by the address since you're new in town. Turn left out of the driveway." She accepts this and starts the car to pull out of the driveway.

Argent, hunter, or none of the above, everything she's done for me – it means a lot. I appreciate that she stopped when I was lying on the side of the road, that she put me in her car, and that she took me to her house, all without knowing a thing about me. I turn to look at her.

"Thank you for all your hospitality. I don't know what would've happened to me without you." The words come out soft and warm like a light summer rain. I note how her fingers tighten on the steering wheel, the blood that pumps quickly throughout her body, and I turn my head forward.

"You're welcome," she answers in a similar tone. My body urges me to look at her again, to see if she'll glance over, what her body language is saying and what expression is on her face, but I refuse. However, I do allow a repeated clenching of my hands. Something to focus on besides her.

"Since you told me about your healing ability, does this mean you're going to tell me what happened yesterday?"

_The Argents_, my mind flashes. She means the how I got injured.

"No," I say shortly. I catch a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of my eye and turn to see. Instead I meet hazel eyes that are filled with hurt. Ugh, how does she play upon me so well, manipulating me into saying much more than I should? I sigh heavily. "It's not because I don't want to tell you. It's because I can't remember what happened."

Her reaction is just as I picture it will be. She inhales loudly, and upon her exhale she says, "You don't remember?"

_Trust me, I wish I could._ "No."

"You can't figure out how you got on the side of the road, how you came to be injured, how-?"

I intrude on her monologue. "No."

"Wow." She bites her lip, thinking, until she eventually inquires, "Do you think it could be because of your condition?"

Wanting to laugh, wanting to scream, wanting to tell her everything I can, wanting to turn her so she can join my pack and maybe more, I finally settle for a bitter smile. "I think that's exactly the reason."

She seems genuinely horrified as she exclaims, "That's sick! That people would want to harm you just because of what you can do!"

Now I actually do say the words I've been thinking to myself throughout our conversation. "You have no idea."

"What does it feel like? When you heal, I mean?"

It hurts like hell, most of the time. A stubbed toe or paper cut is usually just a flicker of annoyance, but from there, it's like an unquenchable fire that starts as no more than a spark, but gets more and more intense and blazing until you feel like it must be the end of the world. And then suddenly, you're fine.

She won't want to hear that. I shrug my shoulders before I answer. "It… can be painful. It depends on the severity of the injury."

"So last night was…?"

Agony. I'm shocked she didn't wake up from my shouts. I tried to contain most of them, but a few slipped out. "Not the greatest night of my life."

We trail off into silence, and I find myself wondering what she's thinking about. Does she wonder if my healing is all I can do? Does she now view me as some kind of superhero? Or is she glad to get rid of me?

"What do you like to do for fun, Derek?" she questions out of the blue.

"For fun?" _Chase down hunters, battle with the Argents, defend my pack and other high schoolers from a crazed reptile beast, mostly. _I've been so busy lately that having a normal life has been far from my mind. What's a normal answer here? "I work out. Listen to music. I like being out in nature." Those are all well and good, but seem boring. Or at least, very standard. I feel like I should say something to dazzle her. "I also… sort of mentor some kids in Beacon Hills." What if she asks who they are? Or what I do to mentor them?

"You do? That's really great, Derek," she says. Is she impressed, or overwhelmed by everything I've told her right now? She's learned that I'm well off, single, the only member of my family alive, have a healing ability, and now that I mentor kids. Is that too much in one day?

The car goes around a turn through the forest and comes out into a meadow that I've run through several times. Up ahead, I can see at least three black SUVs parked in a pull off, and several people are combing through the grass.

Oh, _shit._

I'm unable to tell at this distance if they are random hunters or Argents, and if they're Argents then _which_ Argents they are, but I instantly know this is bad. Very bad.

"Stop the car." I spit out the order, holding back my instinct to hop out of the car and race off. But the car doesn't stop; it simply slows down a slight bit. Growling in frustration, I reach across her to yank the wheel to the right, pulling the car off the road. Surprised at my action, she lets out a small cry. "Stop the car!" I yell again.

Her heart has gone off kilter, pumping wildly. Her foot comes down too hard on the brake pedal, and the car skids before stopping with a screech.

Two of the figures in the field point in our direction after that loud display and they begin moving toward us. "Dammit." I close my eyes for a second to gather myself.

Valerie is shaking. "What's going on?"

"Turn the car around and get us out of here as fast as possible," I command. My mind is off, running along the lines of figuring out why those hunters are here.

I'm not catching the scent of another werewolf, so it can't be that they were after anyone in particular. But what would lead them out here? The Kanima? We don't know what it's motivations are, so it's possible. But I don't feel satisfied with that answer. It was like they were just waiting for someone to come through that area, which is not a very good place to hide out as the road isn't well trafficked. Then I realize that they were told to wait there for someone, someone who knew where a certain werewolf would be at a particular time. Because she had him in her car.

It's Valerie.

Valerie Peters is a hunter.

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Sorry that this is a day late! Reviews always appreciated :)


	9. Chapter 9: Valerie

**VALERIE**

As I'm spinning the tires and yanking the wheel in an effort to turn the car around, Derek suddenly goes rigid, his face growing even darker than before. My pulse is furiously thumping along, a reaction to the sudden turn of events. We begin speeding back the direction we came from.

"Derek, what's going on?"

He simply shakes his head, refusing to answer or to look at me.

When we come to an intersection, he leans over again and pulls the steering wheel, turning the car right at a dangerous speed. Again, my foot comes down on the brake.

"No, don't slow down," he orders. He grabs my wrist, tearing it away from the wheel. Terrified, I turn to look at him. His eyes are grim yet determined, and still he won't meet my gaze.

He takes us around another sharp corner, left this time, in front of a car coming the opposite direction. They honk and have to swerve to avoid hitting us.

"Derek!" I scream. I can't help myself; I have no idea what is happening, and now all of a sudden, this guy that I met yesterday is taking me on a high speed chase – except I'm not even sure we're being chased. And if so, I have no idea why.

"Get ready to stop," is all he says. I shift my foot off the gas, the speed of the car slowly from insanely high to a little high. He turns us into a driveway that is green with all the shrubs and weeds growing over it and drives to the end. I apply a bit of brake, and he doesn't object. The driveway leads to a parking lot for an abandoned factory of some sort, and he takes us behind the building where the car is out of sight from the road. Bringing us to a stop, I throw the car in park and turn to him.

But he doesn't appear to be willing to talk. He is unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car, so I do the same. He continues to ignore me, jogging to the edge of the parking lot, where the trees are thick. Getting frustrated at the lack of explanation, I follow him into the woods.

"Derek," I say, wondering when he will tell me what the heck is going on. He walks on, leaving me staring at the back of his head, his leather jacket, and his jeans. "Derek!"

Finally, when we are deep enough in the woods that the parking lot, factory, and my car are hidden from view, he stops. When he turns to face me, his eyes are tight and guarded, his mouth pulled down in a grimace.

"You're good," he admits, but it doesn't sound like a compliment. It sounds harsh, cruel. "You almost had me. I can't believe I almost let my guard down."

What is he saying? I can't piece together the meaning behind his words. "What are you talking about?"

"Even now, you're going to pretend not to know? Even after you led me into that trap?" His tone is angry, the pitch rising in volume with each word.

I am so lost. What does he think I did? Who does he think I am? "Pretend not know what? What trap?" My own voice is sounding more frantic, which probably makes me sound suspicious to him. I take a few steps near him, thinking that if he could just see how confused I really am, he would start making sense.

"Stop it, Valerie!" he shouts. He reaches out and grabs my shoulders, his grip hard to the point of being painful. "I know what you are." He takes a breath and lowers his tone, "I only wonder why you waited so long to play your hand. There were many opportunities, but you chose not to exploit them. Couldn't do it yourself, was that it? You'd rather someone else do your dirty work?"

My sanity seemed to be crumbling. What is happening? Why can't he see that I'm not the bad guy? I feel panic welling up within me, like a balloon overfilling, threatening to blow at any second. The painful iron clamps on my shoulders aren't helping. Heat rises in my cheeks, my eyes grow watery, my throat tightens. Oh, no. What a bad time to start crying.

"Please, Derek. I have no idea what you're saying. I'm not whoever you think I am. What happened back there? Who were those people?" I want him to believe me so badly. How could we have gone from what had happened in the car earlier, to this?

"Hunters, Valerie. They were hunters, just like you. How else would they have known I'd be there, at exactly the right time?"

My vision swirls from the tears, and when I blink, they spill over. But suddenly I feel infused with anger. When had I given Derek a reason not to trust me? I lift a hand to rub away the tears, willing the ones still in my eyes to go away. I brought him, a complete stranger, into my home, for crying out loud. And now _I'm_ the untrustworthy one?

"You're being paranoid. If I was in any way whatever you say I am, why didn't I just call in my friends right when I found you? Why didn't I just leave you to die?" I reply heatedly. He is looking down at me, and I meet his gray green eyes, refusing to back down. I see the doubt cross his features. "But I didn't do that because I'm _actually_ a good person."

Whatever progress I had made on him is lost when I say the last sentence, for his face grows stormy again – even more than before. The fury drains from me as I catch a glimpse of a tortured look on his face before he hides it. Like my declaration that I'm a good person hurt him, or reminded him of someone who hurt him in the same way…

Then I'm being shoved up against the nearest tree, with Derek standing mere inches away. His dark eyebrows are nearly touching, so heavy is his scowl. His hands are still on my shoulders, pinning me against the tree.

I must look surprised, probably shocked. My mouth drops open and my eyes are wide, fixed on his face. I notice that his eyes drop to my lips for an instant before he jerks them back. It brings a different kind of heat to my cheeks.

"So you claim. I've learned the hard way not to trust what people say," he says. His words have grown soft, quiet as though he's just barely breathing them. There's a shift in the air, the tension that was rage is now something else, something that sends shivers through me.

"You already trusted me," I murmur back.

"A bad decision. It won't happen again."

"What did I do to make you doubt me?"

"The hunters-"

"They could have been there by coincidence," I stop to breathe in. He smells so _good_. "Think of all the things I did to help you."

"Right." It's whispered, barely passing as sarcasm. He is leaning forward, crossing the small distance between us. Blood rushes through me, leaving tingling trails in its wake. Oh my gosh, he's about to kiss me. His breath warms my face, his lips so close, but not quite there. "Dammit, Valerie," he mutters, as if it's my fault he's moved in to kiss me, as if I have somehow forced him into it. His voice is husky. A heat wave rushes straight through my body, building a yearning within me. "I can't trust you."

"Yes, you can." I reach up to stroke his face and maybe to wrap my fingers in his hair and pull his lips to mine. My hand hovers an inch away when he pushes back from me, releasing me and shifting out of my reach. He stares at me, his expression guarded and suspicious.

"No. No, I can't. I need to get away from you."

We both hear the noise at the same time, turning towards it. The sound is of branches breaking, fabric pushing past bushes, and leaves crunching underfoot. Someone is coming.

"See?" he hisses at me, furious again, "You kept me busy long enough for someone to get here. You don't like to get your own hands dirty."

"Derek, no-" I begin, but then a man steps out from the trees. He's muscular, not as built as Derek, but big. He has a shaved head, dressed in black jeans and a long black coat. There's a sneer on his ruddy face, and he's holding a gun. Pointing at Derek.

Before I have time to react, Derek leaps at the guy – a huge, almost inhuman leap – that brings him close enough to reach the guy. The gun fires. I scream. The shot is loud, much louder than I expected, leaving my ears ringing. Then I see Derek reeling back, clutching his side, and know he's been hit. I scream Derek's name this time. Derek staggers on his feet, his hand coming away bloody. The man fires again, but this time Derek dives to the side. Derek is slow to get up to his hands and knees, while the man grins and aims the gun.

Terrified for Derek's life, I run and jump on the man's back, trying to get him to drop the gun and shouting for him to stop. He gets a grip on one of my arms and wrenches me off, throwing me to the ground. My back lands sideways on a rock, and the pain that rips through me brings a cry to my lips.

Derek is back on his feet, wrestling with the man for the gun. Freeing a hand, Derek punches the man, then jabs him in the gut with his elbow. As the man is distracted, Derek slams the gun from his hands using his forearm. The two exchange blows, but Derek clearly has the upper hand. With a final vicious punch to the face, the man slumps to the ground, unconscious.

I struggle to get to my feet, my back jolting me with every move. As I limp towards him, Derek holds up a hand.

"Don't… come near me. I know… you brought them here," he says.

"No, I didn't! I tried to stop him, didn't you see that?" My tone is practically hysterical.

He shakes his head. He looks at me, and his eyes appear… sad. Then he turns away from me and runs.

"Derek!" I try to run after him, but he's already disappeared, faster than I would have thought was possible.

"DEREK!"

He's gone.

* * *

Thanks for all the comments, they are so appreciated!

Also, I wrote this entire part in one day, hopefully there aren't too many errors!


	10. Chapter 10: Derek

**DEREK**

I'm reeling over the fact that Valerie is a hunter. She's been a hunter all this time, and just now led me into this trap that she surely thought would work. But I have to focus on getting out of here, despite the fact that she's still in the car. Confronting her will come later.

The car groans at the pressure we're putting on it; the sudden stop, the sharp turn, the rapid takeoff. We're now facing away from the hunters, quickly gaining speed to put some distance between us.

I can hear Valerie's pulse beating rapidly, which only serves to make me more furious. She must have been excited to dispose of me – how her heart must have raced to think of me wandering blindly into the trap she'd carefully laid.

"Derek, what's going on?" she asks, as if she doesn't know. I want to calmly turn to her and ask her the same thing. Hold in the rage for a moment before I release the wolf. I remind myself again that there will be time to challenge her. Later. Without looking at her, I shake my head.

It's hard to think straight with all the thoughts flying through my head - rerunning past conversations, trying to figure out her motivations, recalling when her heart rate spiked and when she seemed calm. So when the car approaches an intersection, I don't have time to tell her to make a turn. And besides, I don't want to tell her, in case her car is bugged or she has some other form of communicating with the hunters. I reach over her arms, wrapping my hand around the wheel, and drag the car sharply around the corner. The car slides for a moment before straightening, and Valerie applies pressure to the brakes.

"No, don't slow down," I bark at her. In case she's thinking of taking control of the vehicle and leading me right back to the hunters, I tug one of her wrists, pulling it off the steering wheel. I keep my eyes fixed on the road, searching for an area that we can disappear into. She turns her head to look at me, perhaps hoping to squeeze information from me, but I refuse to look back at her.

I want to get far enough away from the hunters that it will take them awhile to catch up, and at that point, I don't plan on being around. And it would be nice if they had a hard time finding us. The next street crossing our path looks promising: narrow, with trees and grass creeping up to the edges of the road, looking like the forest is trying to take it over. Ahead, a car nears the juncture, but I know I can make the turn if Valerie keeps her foot on the pedal.

To wrench the wheel enough to the left, I have to lean my body over, practically on top of Valerie. The air around her undulates nearly imperceptibly, a reaction caused by her shaking. Whether she's shaking in fear or excitement, I can't tell. What I do know is that the waving air is gently perfumed with the scent of her; a scent that toys with me, at once both delicious and repulsive.

The turn is executed perfectly. Valerie doesn't slow this time, and the car sails in an arc, leading us down the wooded street. The other car doesn't appreciate the trajectory of the turn, however, and they honk and skid as they slam on their brakes.

"Derek!" Valerie shouts, her voice high with a tone of hysteria, striking just the right pitch to be believable. Believable to anyone but me.

"Get ready to stop," is all I tell her. The car's speed shifts down as she obeys, and I pull into a long driveway that's nearly hidden from the road. The drive hasn't been used in a long time, as shown by the multitude of cracks splitting the pavement, and the weeds stretching up between the gaps. She slows the car down even further as I direct us behind an abandoned factory to a parking lot, ensuring that the car is hidden from view. I finally release the wheel, sitting back in my own seat as she stops the car. As her body turns toward mine, I unbuckle the seat belt, tossing it aside, and step out of the car.

I can't get into the discussion yet. Not in the car. Not in the parking lot. I want to be outside, somewhere I can easily disappear if need be. The woods surrounding the parking lot is the spot for that. Putting some speed behind my movements, I jog across the lot and duck into the cover of the trees. I draw a deep breath, allowing the earthy smell to fill me, holding it inside like my own personal arboretum before releasing it.

She tails me into the woods, mimicking my path, a few paces behind me. She isn't careful about where she steps, or how much noise she makes as she brushes by low hanging branches. Her steps are hurried, like she's trying to catch up to me.

"Derek." I ignore her and continue on. She tries again, her frustration saturating my name, "Derek!"

The anger at her betrayal has been building within me, slowly but steadily. It stings, more so than it should. I hate that I have allowed her in like this. I know better; I have been hurt before. That lesson had cost me my parents – and eventually my sister and uncle, as well. How could she have manipulated me so easily? She must have had something to do with my getting injured in the first place, so that she could swoop in, pretending to help me, getting me to think she cared about me, only then leading me into a trap.

When my anger is nearing its peak, I stop, whirling around to look at her. She has this bewildered expression, her hazel eyes wide. It's amazing that even now, she keeps up the façade, and manages to look concerned.

"You're good," I tell her spitefully. "You almost had me. I can't believe I almost let my guard down."

Her eyebrows lower, her lips open, but for an instant she's quiet. Then, "What are you talking about?"

It's irritating that she won't abandon the act. "Even now, you're going to pretend not to know? Even after you led me into that trap?" I'm raising my voice as I speak, wishing she would finally just give me the truth.

"Pretend not to know what? What trap?" Her face is growing alarmed, but despite my heated words, she steps closer to me.

I can't bear it. "Stop it, Valerie! I know what you are," I yell. She's close enough to touch, and my fingers are burning, my heart pounding, urging me into action. My hands clench her shoulders, tightening around them so I can feel her collarbone under my grip. Her warm flesh beneath my fingers is like electricity, sparking its way to the beast within me. The animal rises, excited, and begins pacing in its confinement, eagerly anticipating the cage being opened. I have to calm down before I shift right in front of her. Taking a breath, I continue in a calmer voice, "I only wonder why you waited so long to play your hand. There were many opportunities, but you chose not to exploit them. Couldn't do it yourself, was that it? You'd rather someone else do your dirty work?"

Something changes in her; I can see it moving across her face. I am still frightening her, but now her cheeks are turning red. Her eyes take on a glossy sheen. She swallows, her lips clamped together, before attempting to respond.

"Please, Derek. I have no idea what you're saying. I'm not whoever you think I am. What happened back there? Who were those people?" Her voice seems unsteady.

"Hunters, Valerie. They were hunters, just like you. How else would they have known I'd be there, at exactly the right time?" As I say the words aloud, I am pierced again with agony. The hunter who'd gotten so close to me, then betrayed me deeper than anything I could have expected from my worst enemy. The one who had set my house on fire and burned my family alive.

I return my focus to Valerie and realize that she's crying. The glint of a wet track on her cheek disquiets me, stirring up doubt. What if I'm wrong? But that's not possible… is it?

She wipes away her tears, dragging a heavy hand along her cheeks, as if the presence of the tears disgusts her. She returns my gaze, determination building in her eyes. "You're being paranoid. If I was in any way whatever you say I am, why didn't I just call in my friends right when I found you? Why didn't I just leave you to die?" She pauses, her teeth clenching for a moment, forcing me to question my judgment. "But I didn't do that because I'm _actually _a good person."

Her words hit me like a backhanded slap to the face. It's like she knows about Kate, like she's purposefully shoving my mistake into the light and forcing me to look. By saying she's a good person, she succeeds in making me feel much worse. I made the error of trusting the wrong person.

How can you ever know for sure who's trustworthy? I can't allow myself to be betrayed like that again.

There's bitterness mingled with resentment as I use the grip I have on her shoulders to push her up against a tree. I stand in front of her, my hands holding her against the tree, my face tilted down to look at her.

She's startled by this turn of events, wincing as she feels the solid tree at her back. When she opens her eyes, they are cautious. Her mouth parts, and I can hear her quickened breathing, feel the warmth of it just in front of me. Unable to help myself, my eyes move to take in the curve of her lips, and I wonder what it would be like to taste their coral softness…

No. Stop. Focus, Derek. I bring my eyes up where they belong, locked on hers.

"So you claim. I've learned the hard way not to trust what people say." I've lowered my voice, to a quiet but threatening level.

Trembles run through her body, but her expression doesn't look intimidated. Her eyes seem to have gotten softer, less frightened.

"You already trusted me," she answers, matching my tone.

"A bad decision. It won't happen again."

"What did I do to make you doubt me?" I watch her lips move to form the words, which is a mistake. Her lips are tantalizing, drawing me in, distracting me.

"The hunters-" I begin.

"They could have been there by coincidence," she says, and inhales deeply. When she speaks again, her voice is just above a whisper. "Think of all the things I did to help you."

"Right," I murmur, but my words are no longer angry or sarcastic. I want her lips against mine. I want her body pressing into mine, the heat rising between us as the kiss deepens. I want to run my fingers through her sunlight-golden hair. She is already so close, her eyelids lowering; she's the very picture of inviting.

I want to accept that invitation. I'm on the verge of moving in to accept it. I'm very nearly there already, just inches away. Her cheeks are pink, warmed with desire.

"Dammit, Valerie. I can't trust you," I tell her, but I don't move away. My body craves her fiercely, begging me to kiss her.

"Yes, you can," she whispers. Her hand lifts, moving next to my cheek when the spell breaks. It's too much, the way I desire her; it can't be real. Warning chimes have gone off in my head, my self-imposed fence alerting me I'm too close to letting down my guard. The hunters must have fabricated some sort of pheromone and are using it – quite effectively – against me.

I shove away from her, letting go and dodging her hand. Now that I've finally heard the alarms, I can't turn them off. She has to be a hunter. An incredibly dangerous one.

"No. No, I can't. I need to get away from you."

A branch snaps nearby, followed by a heavy tread, kicking up leaves. The swishing of fabric rubbing against itself and against the underbrush warns that someone is approaching us. A hunter. Valerie led him here. My temper flares up.

"See? You kept me busy long enough for someone to get here. You don't like to get your own hands dirty."

She looks crestfallen. "Derek, no-" She stops as a man appears from behind the surrounding trees. I turn to face him immediately, sizing him up. He's a hunter, dressed in black jeans and a black coat that drags around his knees. His contemptuous expression is ugly, but uglier is the gun he's aiming in my direction.

I don't waste any time, pushing off the ground and launching myself into the air at him. It's a good jump that takes me to his side, but it's not far enough. The gun goes off, and the noise is like an explosion in my ears. I faintly hear Valerie shriek, but it sounds like she's on top of a cliff and I'm at the bottom. Pain rips through me, burrowing into my stomach and shredding a hole out the other side. But that's not the only effect; instantly, I feel cut off from some vital part of me, like I've been locked out of my car with the engine running. Something isn't right, but I can't afford to figure out what that is while the hunter continues to point a gun at me.

Valerie screams again, my name this time. I steady myself, setting my feet and clenching my hands into fists when the gun fires again. Anticipating the shot, I jump to the side, but as I land on my stomach, the gun injury sends a tornado of agony through me. I'm feeling woozy as I push myself up. I'm moving too slow. I know this, but I can't seem to get up any faster, as every little movement jars the bullet hole and has me seeing spots.

Then I hear Valerie yelling and the sounds of a scuffle. I turn around and she's on the man's back like she's going for a piggyback ride, her fists pounding away at him without much effect. He manages to catch one of her arms and drags her off, tossing her aside, where she lands on the ground with a sickening thud and a moan.

The sight of her being thrown to the ground and possibly getting injured in the process stirs the part of me that hangs on to the hope that she isn't a hunter and outrages me. I funnel the rage towards the man standing over her, at once grabbing for the gun. We struggle over it, each trying to direct the muzzle toward the other. In a swift move, I release a hand, whacking the man on his jaw, then striking him in his stomach. The man groans and spits out blood as the blow to his stomach forces the air from his lungs. I knock the gun away while the man gasps for breath.

He straightens sooner than I expected, throwing force behind a punch to my face, following it up with a cheap shot to the bullet wound in my side. I grimace, but adrenaline has taken over and the pain is tolerable. As his fist flies toward my face again, I raise a hand and catch it before it connects. The surprise on his face turns to fear as I strike out with a punch, a hook, and an uppercut. He makes unsuccessful attempts to block them, and to counter with his own jabs, but he's finished and he knows it. An opening appears, and I take the shot, throwing my weight behind the blow. The strength of it spins him as he falls, knocked out cold.

Valerie rises from the ground, her mouth twisted in pain, holding one of her arms stiffly to her side. She lurches toward me, but I hold up a palm to stop her in her tracks.

"Don't… come near me. I know… you brought them here," I say, panting from exertion.

She stares at me. "No, I didn't! I tried to stop him, didn't you see that?"

I did see it. A very clever trick to sell that she's not a hunter, to get her back on my good side. I'm not buying it.

But it's clear that I need to leave her. Being around her is treacherous. It would be so easy to believe her, so easy to fall to the temptation of her lips. I can't have that. It would not only put me in danger, but my whole pack.

So I shake my head. Before I go, I look at her for one last time, taking in her wavy blonde hair, her inviting hazel eyes, the gentle curve of her jaw, her full lips, and her womanly figure. I feel a ripping as I turn away from her, a break in the connection. My throat is thick.

And then I run, blocking out the sound of her voice calling my name.

Within a minute I have shifted, putting as much distance between us as possible.

Her voice echoes in my mind.

* * *

Better late than never, right?! I'm so sorry I've been MIA everyone! I've been going through some crazy stuff (I just had to take a dose of radioactive iodine for some health issues, which meant I was unable to be around people for 7 days), but hopefully things are calming down enough for me to get back on a regular schedule with this story. I definitely plan on continuing, but might try for a every other week schedule rather than a weekly one. We'll see!

Thanks for the comments as usual! They keep me motivated to post new content! :)


	11. Chapter 11: Valerie

**VALERIE**

As I limp back to my car, my thoughts tumble through my brain, a never ending dryer cycle. The effect is that I'm left spinning, completely unsure of what happened. It's like I walked into an alternate universe and have absolutely no idea what's going on anymore.

All I know is that Derek thinks I'm a bad guy. And that sucks.

Seriously, what the _hell_ happened? First he reveals that he's got this ability that heals him faster than normal. In other words, he has super powers. Then he thinks I led him into some trap, that I'm something he calls a hunter. A hunter of what, exactly? Guys with super powers?

The man dressed in all black, he was a hunter. But what would killing Derek accomplish? And why do these people, these hunters, exist? Why do they want to hunt?

The biggest question of all, why does Derek think I'm one of them? When did I ever give off the impression that I was one? He referred to me leading him into a trap. Was that the place with all the black SUVs and the hunters wandering in the field? I don't understand how he thinks I could have contacted them to let them know where we'd be when he was the one giving directions.

He said he learned the hard way not to trust people. That comment, which I didn't pick up on at first, causes an ache within me. Clearly he's been through some serious suffering, and I can sympathize with that; I just wish he didn't have to take it out on me.

As I ease into my car, I realize that I have no way of getting in touch with Derek. He didn't give me a phone number, an address, or even a general idea of where he hangs out. Essentially, he can seek me out, but I'm blocked from being able to do the same.

I lean back in my chair and run my hands over my pulled-back hair. Coming to this understanding has me feeling hurt. But why does it bother me to know that Derek didn't want me to be able to contact him? Because he left without explaining anything? Because it's like a slap in the face? That, after all I did, he chose not to trust me.

Because he abandoned me, and I have no idea when – or _if _– I'll see him again.

My feelings shift into rage. How can he treat me like this? Dragging me in the middle of some crazy-bad situations, making me care for him, giving me the slightest hint that something deeper might be going on, then walking away as if I'd had a hand in orchestrating those situations. I jumped on a guy's back, for crying out loud! A guy with a _gun_. I could've been killed!

I slam my hands down on the steering wheel. The shock jolts through my hands. Lifting my tingling palms to my face, I stare at my hands, watching the white stripe fade slowly into crimson.

He abandoned me.

My eyes grow dull, no longer seeing my hands and steering wheel, but instead seeing James. James, holding my hand, giving it a small kiss before leaving the car. Telling me he'd be right back.

Except he never came back.

My vision had gone hazy on account of the tears, but through their cloudiness, I can see my hands trembling. It'd been a deserted little place we'd stopped, making the journey back home from the college campus. This abandoned factory was starting to be eerily reminiscent of that place.

And who knew how many more people wearing all black were still out there, nearing my location? What would they do to me if they found me?

My shaking hand turns the key in the ignition. As the engine snarls into submission, I realize that I have no idea where I am. Derek didn't give me directions back to my house before leaving. He stranded me here.

My throat tightens and my stomach twists and clenches. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. Okay. _Deep breaths, Valerie. Don't panic. Just breathe._

My smartphone. I dig into my purse and pull out my phone, bringing up directions back to my house within seconds. Thank goodness for smartphones.

* * *

Pulling into my driveway gives me a great sense of relief. Home safe. As if my house has a barrier around it that no creepy evil guys dressed in black can cross. I go inside and immediately head for the bathroom, where I take a long, hot shower, allowing my tense muscles to finally relax.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around myself and head for the phone. I really should call mom back before she drives herself crazy wondering about our earlier conversation. It's hard to believe that was just two hours ago.

Punching in the number, I bite my lip as I wonder how exactly to explain everything. _Hi mom, so that guy who was over, I picked him up from the side of the road and he stayed the night, _might not be the best idea.

She answers after the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hi mom. It's me."

She sounds utterly relieved to hear my voice again. "Oh, hi sweetie! I'm so glad you called back, I've been anxious to hear from you. I hope everything's all right."

"Yes, everything's fine." I pause, but she doesn't say anything. She's waiting for me to explain the whole guy-at-my-house-in-the-early-morning-hours situation. I sigh, still not sure how best to describe it. "So, how's dad?"

"He's fine, honey. We're just wondering how you're doing…" She trails off.

"I'm good. Mostly unpacked. I still need to find a second job to support the astronomy."

"Mmm-hmm. And you're making friends?" Her voice is much too bright. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Sort of." Could I call Derek a friend? Someone who abandons another in the middle of a forest near a deserted factory after taking them on a high speed chase and knocking out a guy in all black, without even leaving their number…? That's not a friend. "I guess you're wondering about the guy I had over this morning."

"Now that you mention it, I am curious. It seemed a bit odd, given your situation-"

Psh, as if she wasn't desperately waiting for me to bring it up. I cut her off. "I know. Believe me, I understand it seemed odd. It's… it _is_ odd. Just listen, okay? I don't want you to get upset when you hear this. Let me explain."

"Okay…" she says slowly.

Here goes. "Yesterday, as I was driving home from the grocery store, I found a guy by the side of the road. He was lying down, bleeding, barely conscious, and I couldn't leave him there. I planned on taking him to the hospital, but I couldn't remember where it was, and since I wasn't getting the creeper vibe from him – which you know my creeper radar tends to be very active – I decided to take him home. I cleaned and bandaged his wounds, let him crash on my couch, then dropped him off this morning." Okay, so huge chunks of information were missing from that explanation, but it's better that way.

It takes her a moment to process everything. "Wow. Well, I'm glad everything worked out, honey, it just… It just seems like you took a risk doing that, Valerie."

"I know, mom. But I'm fine, and he's going to be okay-"

"Are you keeping in touch with him?"

Yikes. That question catches me off guard. "Uh, probably not."

She is silent for a moment, and I can't tell if she's glad or unhappy by my response. "Did he tell you how he got to be injured like that? And tossed by the side of the road?"

"Not really. He was fading in and out of consciousness the whole time," I lie.

"Hmm. Well, I'm sure you don't need your mother's advice anymore, but if you ask me, he sounds dangerous. Like someone you should probably steer clear of."

_You don't have to worry about that, he didn't give me much choice in the matter, _I silently tell her. Into the receiver, I say, "You're probably right."

Her voice warms up again. "Do you want to hear more about the young man I was telling you about this morning? He's the son of one of my friends in California, about your age, lives a few towns away, and he sounds like a wonderful young man."

I stare out the window as she babbles on. Clouds like giant pirate ships have overrun the waters of the sky, taking the sun captive. It's now dark, making the world below appear gloomy.

Finally I decide to derail her efforts. "Mom, I'm kind of stressed out right now with everything going on: the move, unpacking, my astronomy job, looking for a second job. I need to focus on getting settled here before I can think about dating."

"Oh, of course, sweetie. I understand. Let us know if there's anything we can do to help."

That brings a smile to my face. "Thanks, mom. Love you, give dad a kiss from me."

"Love you too, honey. Bye."

I feel another wave of relief as I hang up the handset. That didn't go as badly as I was expecting. I was anticipating a full-fledged meltdown from my mom after she'd heard I'd picked up a guy from the side of the road. I half expected her to jump in her car and drive down here to scold me in person.

* * *

My plan had been to go looking for a second job today, and after my shower and good conversation with mom, I'm feeling rejuvenated and up to job hunting. Even though I'm only going to apply for a waitressing position, I want to look professional. I slip into black jeggings, a crimson camisole with black ribbon along the scooped neckline, and a long ivory sweater, which I hold together with a black belt. Nude heels complete the look. I apply some neutral makeup, pull my hair back into a neat bun, map out restaurants to apply at, and head for the door.

The closet by my front door catches my eye and I pause. After a moment of debate, I swing the closet door open, pulling down the palm-sized metal rod and throwing it into my purse. It never hurts to have some form of protection. Especially since I've been so jumpy after Derek left.

The first restaurant I go to is boarded up, a closed sign hanging crookedly on the front doors. The second place is no more than a shack, a small, mom and pop place that is nearly deserted inside except for a group of old men wearing golf caps and a fly buzzing angrily around the room. The woman who moseys over to greet me looks me up and down twice after I tell her I'd like to apply for a waitressing position and raises her eyebrow. I take an application and tell her I'll bring it back. Which I will definitely _not_ be doing.

The next place I pull up to is crowded, which is a good sign. It's called the Howlin' Saloon, and as I step out of my car, I can hear strains of music floating out through the double doors. It's a big place, from the looks of it, with two floors. It looks promising.

As I walk into the saloon, I'm impressed by how busy it is. The place is packed. It's got character, too, styled like an old Western saloon with a modern twist. There's an upright piano in one corner, with a guy pounding a jaunty tune on the keys. The bar stretches the length of one wall, then curls in the corner of the room to run the length of the perpendicular wall as well. I count four bartenders right off the bat. The men are dressed in tight white t-shirts, brown pants, and brown vests slashed with diamonds created by diagonal stripes of blue, while the women prance around in white shirts with a deep v-neckline and puffed cap sleeves, a corset done in the same fabric as the men's vests, and full brown skirts that stop mid-thigh. Okay, so a little slutty. I can see why this place is popular.

One of the waitresses scurries over to me, and has me take a seat at the bar while she gets an application. I order a beer, because hey, I'm sitting at the bar and it seems polite to do so, and work on filling out the application.

I'm about half way through when I notice that a couple have sat down one seat away from me. The woman has short, bright red hair and the man has piercing blue eyes. What grabs my attention is something I overhear them saying, but it's hard to hear everything over all the other bar sounds.

"How did his injuries heal so quickly? I thought you said he'd be…" the woman says.

"…must have been washed out. But you're missing the point." A lot of what the man says gets drowned out by background noise. "…no longer the alpha."

I'm trying to keep my eyes on the application and not react to anything they're saying, but at this I can't help frowning. Alpha? What does that mean?

"Without him, the rest will scatter. They will be vulnerable."

"Exactly," the man replies. "And we can stop him from…"

Is this Derek they're talking about? Are they the ones who injured him? It's hard to follow their conversation. Who are the others they're referring to?

"Gerard will want to use this opportunity..."

"Good," answers the woman, "We deserve some revenge for what happened to Kate."

A hand comes down on my back. I jump a little, turning to find the waitress smiling at me. "You all set with that application? I can give it to the manager right away. He may want to interview you on the spot."

"Oh, uh, almost done. I'll bring it to you in a minute," I manage to stutter out.

"Okay!" she chirps, and disappears. I turn back to the bar, glancing surreptitiously at the couple as I do. The woman catches my gaze and I can't pick up my pen and return my attention to the application fast enough.

Drowning everything else out, I finish the application, hand it in to the waitress, who leads me to the manager. We have an impromptu interview, and I can tell he likes me, but I can't keep the conversation from that couple out of my mind. I manage to make it through the interview seeming competent, and the manager ends up shaking my hand and telling me I'm hired. He gets a uniform for me, suggesting that I leave my hair down when I come in for work, and tells me the schedule. I thank him and head for the door.

I'm just breathing in a refreshing bit of air when someone grabs my shoulder. Hard.

"We need to talk," hisses a voice in my ear.


	12. Chapter 12: Derek

**DEREK**

My name on Valerie's lips reaches my ears, and seems to follow me no matter how far away I get. The underlying tone of anguish nearly convinces me to turn around and race back to her.

I'm such a fool.

So I shift, allowing my inner beast out of its cage, letting the outrage that I've been so deceived and so blind to her lies fill me, adding fuel to boost my speed. The edges of my vision blur with blood red hatred. The rest of my senses strengthen. I smell a small animal in the woods nearby, hear it scurrying up a tree to hide from me. Falling onto all fours, I shoot across the forest floor with no destination in mind.

And yet I still desire her, having urges to pull her against me tightly, to bring her lips to mine, to peel off her clothing layer by layer until she's standing in nothing but pure skin, to run my hands all over her luscious body and have her shiver and sigh at my touch. The memory of her scent and having her pressed against a tree, inches away from me surfaces in my brain, teasing me.

I have to forget about her, or before I can stop myself I'll be hunting her down again with no reservations about accepting the invitation from those ruby red lips of hers. Without caring if she's a hunter or not.

I shut off my mind and let go from within, releasing the thoughts about Valerie, about the hunters, about everything.

That's when I realize what the strange prickling at the back of my head had been about since the fight with the hunter. Something's wrong. As an alpha, my powers are even greater when I have formed a pack to follow my leadership. I'm stronger, faster, and the bond between my pack members leaves me with a slight sense of them throughout the day. Nothing like I can hear them in my mind, but just a small feeling of their presence.

Right now, I can't feel them at all. And my werewolf senses and abilities seem… lessened. Not up to where they should be. Nowhere close.

What kind of object can break the bond between the alpha and their pack? The realization sends horror shooting through me.

I take off immediately towards Scott's house, wanting to check that he's okay. What if what happened with Valerie and that other hunter was all intended as a distraction? He isn't at home – at least I can still sense _some_ things – so I immediately turn and speed to Stiles' house.

He's there, doing homework or something in his bedroom, and his father isn't. I hop up onto the roof, slide open the window, climb in, and am standing next to him at his desk before he even realizes I'm there. He happens to glance to the side, notices me, and nearly falls out of his chair.

"Holy-! You trying to give me a heart attack, Derek?" he exclaims, clutching his chest for emphasis.

I ignore his question, which is a complete waste of breath to answer. "Where's Scott?" I ask.

"I don't know, I don't keep tabs on his whereabouts every second of the day. Probably sneaking off with Allison."

"Call him," I order, to which Stiles rolls his eyes, but he reaches for his phone all the same. After a short phone call, he turns to me.

"Like I thought, he's with Allison. What's this about, Derek?"

I turn away from him to study his dresser, not wanting him to see how affected by fear I am at the prospect of no longer being an alpha.

"We need information on something that can separate an alpha from its pack," I say, trying to keep my voice utterly flat and emotionless.

"Like, physically? Distance-wise?" Stiles asks.

"No. Like destroying the actual bonds of what makes a pack."

"That sounds serious." I turn back to him with one of my best scowls. He raises his eyebrows while simultaneously leaning back in his chair to be further from me. "Okay, got it. Definitely serious." He pauses, and his face shifts as understanding dawns on him. "Wait, so you're no longer an alpha?"

Again, I refuse to answer the rhetorical question. "You think Allison's grandfather would have more information on it?"

Instead of answering, Stiles swivels his chair around and flips open his laptop. I find myself annoyed at his behavior.

"What are you doing?"

"Ever used the internet before, Derek? It's got this great thing called Google where you can search for information. You should try it sometime, rather than forcing information out of lackeys." There's a smirk in his tone.

"Don't make me hurt you, Stiles."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about." He clicks away on the keys and skims the results. "According to this site, there's some kind of serum that can be made called… 'Oathbreaker'. If this is injected in the alpha of a pack, aka you, it says the results will cause a 'breaking of the oaths between the brothers and sisters of a pack'."

I move to stand behind him, leaning down over his shoulder to get a closer look. He turns to me, giving me a look. "Do you mind? I'm the Google master, here." I narrow my eyes at him, but respect his wishes and take a step back while maintaining eye contact the whole time. Stiles grins and shifts back to the computer.

"You said it's a serum. Like a poison? Will it eventually work its way out of the system? Is there an antidote?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." He scrolls through the site, looking for relevant information. "It has a recipe here… go figure, one of the ingredients is wolfsbane."

"What?" I'm surprised by this information. Wolfsbane is deadly to werewolves, and yet I haven't felt sick or ill in any way. Just physically weakened.

"Uh oh," he says, his face going grim as he continues reading.

"Stiles. What?"

"This says here that the effects of Oathbreaker are permanent. 'All members of the former pack affected by Oathbreaker become omegas, unable to join or form another pack, until either every beta of the former pack have been killed, or until the former alpha is killed.'"

"That can't be the only way. There has to be some sort of antidote." I can't even think of that as being the only option. That's impossible. Why would I not have heard about this before?

My ears catch a noise from downstairs, alerting me to a presence within the home. Apparently I was so distracted that I didn't even hear Stiles' dad pull up in the driveway.

"Your dad's coming," I inform Stiles.

"You know, it's creepy that you can tell that kind of stuff from like a mile away," Stiles replies, nonchalant. He's still absorbed with reading the information on the Oathbreaker.

"And you have terrible hearing. He's in the house, heading upstairs right now." A creak on the floorboards of the stairs confirms my statement.

Stiles looks up, eyes wide. He starts gesturing wildly, his hands cutting the air, which I take to mean he wants me to hide. I dart with superhuman speed to his closet.

"_Never get used to that,_" I hear Stiles mutter as I close the door softly.

The sheriff walks into the room a moment later. "Hi, Stiles."

"Oh hey, dad. How's things? Police-y?"

"Very. There's been another attack. I really don't like the circumstances of these attacks. There's more to this than- well, I shouldn't be telling you the details. Just… be careful, okay?"

"You're worried?" Stiles asks, his voice more serious.

"Absolutely. It's dangerous right now. It's similar to the incident at the garage where you took your jeep. I do _not_ want you getting yourself in the middle of any of this. You hear me, Stiles? I'm serious."

"You got it, dad. No getting involved. Check. Don't worry about me," Stiles replies, with a note of false brightness. The sheriff either doesn't sense the note like I do, or he accepts that he will have to trust his son. They begin a chat about school and homework, while I zone out to think about the Oathbreaker serum.

Clearly, when I was shot by that hunter in the woods, the bullet had been dipped in the serum. Thinking back, I realize that was the exact moment when I felt something change. Something was wrong from that moment on. I had been feeling the separation from my pack at that very moment and hadn't even realized it.

But I'm not sure what exactly the goal is with the Oathbreaker. Yes, destroying my pack does make me weaker. It makes all of us weaker. But that doesn't mean we can't communicate or work together.

Unless… unless they've gotten to the rest of my pack already.

I watched Gerard kill that omega with a sword in the woods with Scott. Is that what they want to do? Eliminate us, one by one, until they rid the town of werewolves?

My attention is drawn back to the present as I notice Stiles and the sheriff are wrapping up their conversation. Stiles closes the door behind the sheriff.

"Okay, coast is clear."

I step out of the closet, my worry for my pack – my former pack – intensified. They're just high school kids, and not only that, they're fresh werewolves, suddenly without a pack. I need to protect them.

"Keep looking into the Oathbreaker. I have to go find the others," I tell Stiles as I head for his window.

"Why do I always have to be the information guy?" he whines.

I turn back and flash a rare wicked grin at him. "You're the Google master, remember?" Leaving him speechless for once, I drop out of the window and race into the woods to find the other omegas.

* * *

*sheepish grin* So, did I say something about sticking to a schedule? Ahem, yeah, that may have been a slight overestimation on my ability to manage everything else I've got going on. Sorry for the huge delay! But yay, Stiles! I had a lot of fun writing him, but I'm always nervous about bringing in characters that are so unique. Hope I did him justice. :) I always appreciate reviews!


	13. Chapter 13: Valerie

**VALERIE**

As I'm spun around, my stomach turns to ice, solid and unyielding. Crap. It's the couple I was eavesdropping on. The woman's vibrant red hair matches her fierce glare. The man seems calmer, but I can't be positive that he's not just better at concealing his displeasure. They pull me around to the side of the building, out of obvious sight, although it's still early enough to be light out.

"Why were you listening to us? What do you know?" demands the woman. She's staring right at me, but it feels like she's looking down on me somehow. The man places a hand on her shoulder, as if to pacify her. It doesn't have any subduing effect that I can see.

"We couldn't help but notice you seemed interested in our conversation. Is there something you need to tell us?" He approaches me gently, but I still feel an underlying threat there. A tell-us-or-else vibe.

I'm not a very good liar, but I certainly don't feel like telling these strangers what happened with Derek. He entrusted me with his secret, and I'm not going to betray his trust. Although I wish there was some way to get them to tell me more, without revealing anything I know.

"Uh, no. I was working on an application, I must have been zoning out. Sorry," I say hastily.

"She's lying," hisses the woman. The man holds up a hand to settle her.

"What's your name?" the man asks with a smile on his face.

"Valerie," I respond, not seeing any reason not to tell them my true name. Particularly if they come often to the bar where I'll soon be working.

"Valerie, I'm Chris Argent, and this is my wife Victoria. It's nice to meet you," he says, while offering his hand. After I shake his hand, he continues, "There are some nasty characters in this town, Valerie. I think you should know how dangerous it is to associate with them. Derek Hale in particular. Do you know anything about him?"

I squint a little, like I'm trying to think if I've heard of him, then shake my head. "No. How do you mean, dangerous?"

"All I'm saying is get involved with him, and you'll be putting your life in danger. I'm giving you friendly advice. Some might see any association with him as a threat."

"I don't understand. Is there some kind of turf war going on here?" I laugh, but I'm honestly curious. Who the heck are these people? What do they want with Derek? "But I guess I don't need to worry about it."

A car pulls around the corner, slowing down near us. The Argents ignore it, even as the passenger door opens. A girl with long, dark hair steps out of the car and turns toward us, but leans back down into the car when she realizes the couple hasn't noticed her yet.

Victoria, the red haired woman, takes a threatening step towards me. For some reason, she actually frightens me a bit, and my heart picks up its pace. "Listen to me, Valerie. Listen to me very carefully. If I find out that you know anything about Derek, you're going to regret it. Tell us the truth now, and you can go free."

"I-I really don't know what you're talking about. I have to go," I start to say, but Chris's hand on my shoulder stops me again. His grip is like iron.

"Think, Valerie. If you're lying to us, you're choosing the wrong side."

"Hi, guys!" a chipper voice interrupts. Chris drops his hand away immediately, and they both turn to the girl from the car, who has a wide smile and dimples in her cheeks.

"Allison! You're early," Chris comments, ignoring me as though they haven't just been threatening my life. I'm feeling rattled, and can't figure out whether or not I should go, or stay to see if any more information will slip about Derek.

The girl, who's holding several thick school books, gives me a curious glance. "Am I interrupting something?" she asks.

Victoria steps between us, blocking her from my view. "Of course not, sweetheart. We should get going." She pauses, staring at the car Allison emerged from. "Is that Scott McCall? What were you doing with him?"

I take the fact that I'm being ignored as my cue to leave, and stumble off towards the front of the building where my car is parked. Over my shoulder, I hear Allison impatiently explaining that she has a group project with Scott.

As I'm fumbling with my keys, I hear a car door slam and footsteps approaching. This time I whirl around, refusing to be taken by surprise. A teenager with a dark complexion is tentatively walking towards me, his eyes surveying the way I'm clutching my keys in front of me as though they were a weapon.

"Hey," he says cautiously. His voice is warm, not at all threatening, and his brown eyes are kind. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

I lower my hands and give a shaky laugh. "No, you're fine. I'm a little on edge right now."

"Are you okay?" he asks. "It looked like they were giving you a hard time."

I shrug, again unsure of how much to reveal to a complete stranger. It feels like I've just been tossed in the middle of a tornado with all the crazy things happening lately. Am I going to have to follow a yellow brick road soon?

"I'm fine," I tell him, purposefully vague and avoiding his second statement.

He studies me for a moment. Then he gives me a lopsided grin that is utterly earnest. "It's okay, you know. The Argents don't like me, either. I'm Scott McCall, by the way." He steps closer, offering me his hand, and I shake it. He's got a solid grip, firm but not bone-crushingly tight.

"Valerie Peters," I say with a smile. Then I nod my head towards the side of the building where the Argents cornered me. "What's up with the Argents? Why are they so… suspicious?"

"They seriously dislike certain people in this town. Would run them out like dogs if they could. Anyone they think might have a connection to those people is untrustworthy to them," he explains. He pauses, seeming to be considering me, then ventures, "I heard them mention Derek Hale. You know him?"

I hesitate. He seems so trustworthy. I _want_ to trust him. But I just don't know if I can. So I settle for innocent. "Is he one of those people they can't stand? Is there some sort of family feud thing going on in Beacon Hills?"

"Something like that," he replies, his voice breezy. A distinct chirping sound fills the air, coming from his pocket. He grimaces and reaches in to pull out his cell phone. After checking the number, he looks up at me, his expression apologetic. "I should get this. It was nice meeting you, Valerie. Be careful around the Argents." His final warning is given over his shoulder as he jogs back toward his car.

Well, what the heck. I turn back to my own car, unlock the door, and slide down in the seat, staring blankly at my steering wheel. This town is _crazy_. Legitimately crazy. I'm starting to see two distinct sides, with Derek and now possibly this Scott kid on one side and the Argents and the hunters on another, but what on earth is the divider keeping them on these different sides?

When I'd overheard the Argents talking, they'd mentioned Derek healing quickly. So, obviously they know about his ability. And… they knew about him being injured. It seems pretty clear that even if they weren't necessarily the ones to injure him, they were probably behind it. But why? Why do they want to harm him?

Then there were others they mentioned, like Kate and Gerard, and something about revenge, and a leader – no, that wasn't it, it was an alpha…

Rubbing my forehead with both hands, I shake my head. I can't wrap my mind around all the information. Not only that, but my stomach is growling angrily within me. I haven't eaten since this morning, and the sky is already starting to darken. I hadn't been aware of how much time had passed during my waitressing job hunt, and my blood sugar levels are running low. Time to pick up something quick and head home. I need to escape from this altogether strange day.

As I pull into my driveway a short while later, I try to force myself to relax. I should be feeling more at ease, knowing I've got a side job to support my astronomy work. And the whole Derek thing… well, I should just let that go. There's nothing I can do about it, and I'm clearly not going to be getting any answers anytime soon.

But despite all this, I don't feel settled. Something is making me incredibly antsy. Perhaps it's leftover jitteriness from the intense morning, or getting threatened by the Argents.

All the lights are off in my house, and in the meantime, the entire sky has gone dark from the sun being put to bed, so it's looking more foreboding than inviting at the moment.

_Stop being a baby_, I chide myself. My hand is wrapped around the door handle when a flicker of movement inside my house catches my eye, and I freeze.

It was just a tiny motion; a stirring of the curtain over the front window. And possibly a dark shape behind it? I can't be sure about that. With all the craziness today, it's possible I'm imagining things.

But I'm fairly certain I didn't imagine the curtain move. My gut has turned to ice water, sending shivers down my spine.

I reach into my purse, pulling out the palm-sized rod and expanding it to its full length. Extended, the baton is a foot long, and cold, hard metal. A surprisingly effective weapon. I'd gotten it shortly after the incident with James, since I'd been unable to feel safe without some form of protection.

Slowly I creep toward the house, watching for any further sign of an intruder, but I don't see any more movement. Opening the door as quietly as I can, I peer into the dark house, clutching the baton in a death grip. I stand there in the entrance for a solid minute, barely breathing, my eyes sweeping the room and my ears tuned for the sounds of another person. Sweat dampens my palms and beads my forehead. My heart is racing so loudly that I'm half convinced I wouldn't be able to hear an intruder over the racket.

But I don't see or hear anything.

Finally, I exhale and move further into the house, heading for the light switch on the wall. Oh man, I'm really losing it. Whatever I thought I saw was clearly nothing. I relax my grip on the baton, allowing my arm to drop to my side as I reach out with my other hand for the switch.

For the second time that day, a hand comes down my shoulder. A scream erupts from me reflexively, an automatic reaction to this person who is in my house and is now standing behind me, who was waiting for me to come home in a dark house, oh my gosh…

Another hand clamps over my mouth, cutting off the loud shrieking I'm making, and I begin to struggle. I twist the baton in my hand and jerk it backwards, striking with all my force. The end rams into my attacker's ribs, and air comes wheezing out of him as the blow lands.

I'm bringing the baton up for another blow when the hand that had been on my shoulder blocks my strike. My wrist is caught in a painfully tight grip, from which I can't wiggle out or move at all. I feel panic descend on me, drowning me with fear. My cries are muffled under the heavy hand over my mouth. Flailing with my free hand, I land a few jabs on the man behind me, but none of it seems to have an effect. My eyes prick with the forming of tears. Holy crap. Am I about to be murdered? Raped? Both? My throat is closing with the horror of it.

He pushes me up against the wall and presses his body against my back, a way of forcing me to stop struggling. The tears are spilling over now, strangely hot on my cheeks.

His voice is suddenly in my ear. "Valerie, shh! Calm down! It's me."

I stiffen at the familiar voice. He cautiously takes his hand from my mouth after my stifled yells subside and moves back. Spinning around to face the intruder for the first time, I find myself staring dumbfounded into a pair of striking gray green eyes.

* * *

Poor Valerie. I sure am putting her through the ringer, aren't I? Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Reviews are very appreciated!


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